Friday, October 30, 2009

Poetry Friday


Autumn shifts in her seat,

and suddenly the landscape changes. Gone

are the sun-kissed golden tresses,
the fiery reds,
the laughter of the pumpkins.
In their place,
low mounds
of soggy brown leaf sludge,
by the broad, wide scent of decay.

See the statue trunks.
Lift your eyes to the branch silhouettes.
What stands before you?
Is it ache and desolation?
Or is it beauty and magnificence?

Listen closely for the answer.

Hear it on the horizon.


Yes, it is.