Friday, October 17, 2008

Poetry Friday

Burnt Umber

The days of fall
tumble inevitably
into decay

and we find ourselves standing, helpless,
beneath the colorless sky.

And our souls ache.

Hearts collide
with the chill in the air;

and bones stiffen
in solidarity
with the brittle crackle
of bare branches
and dead leaves.

But then autumn,
in her wretched capriciousness,
flares her other face,

and we stand, powerless and weak-kneed,
under the endless blue sky:

the warm breeze a balm,
and the leaves --
oh, the leaves!

what can they ever be

but the unbelievable palette

of life.

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