Crimson is the aura of death that sought
lost souls into a screaming silence.
I cannot forget the feel of sunshine
nor attempt to forgo warbler song at gloaming
like desolate, despairing leaves in winter
how one could withdraw from love, desire and hate?
I fear this to be neither coincidence nor dream
my soul bereft
from echoes of want and longing,
could it be that lies fed on ones who were broken?
I am autumn, I am wind
buoyant and hopeful than anything you can ever imagine
there isn’t a fairytale
that I can’t pry from the clutches of cynicism and doubt
once every blossoming decade
I whisper into the ears of hesitant young
‘You can’t change your fate,
neither can you hope to rewind what’s lost
but try and keep an open heart
and you’ll be surprised just where you end up.’
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for “Wordy Thursday” @ Real Toads
also on the ‘Poetry Pantry’ @ Poets United