Lost in a storm of amber leaves, I waste
the last drop of summer to save a whisper
from the climbing roses you laid out for me,
to hold their ruby glow with the risk to blind me.
No butterflies, no blossoms stay behind to see me cry
together with the inevitable mist of clouds.
Over drowned solstice fires, I harvest the seeds of grief,
your face grows dim, consumed by the revenge of Nature.
I wake up, naked, in a naked forest, hazel shadows
sword your message through the wind. And the skies,
a pallet floating in gruesome hue and saturation,
remind me of roads never traveled,
of lands never swept by innocent laughter,
of broken hearts that declare the debut of Autumn.
© 2012 Broken Sparkles