Autumn

And lo the melancholy sky,
Mourns the sun in smokey gray,
And as light and warmth abate,
I walk in doubt and dismay,
Mindful that my seasons too,
Ghostly pale each passing day.
Equinox fades.

As trees will weep their leaves,
In earth or fire tones of red,
Preparing for the cold assault,
In this season of dark and dread,
I bend against the frigid breeze,
And pull against the stubborn thread.
Harvest reaper.

And the skeletons of forests,
Claw the gray and pallid sky,
Tearing at the ashen cotton,
Fissures of daylight in reply,
Softly bathe the dormant world,
A twilight hope opens my eye.
Autumnal baptism.

Standing in the fading light,
Adjusting rhythms to the dying,
As the trees pause every breath,
To tenebrous times complying,
So the cold and silver luster,
Rests my spirit from the trying,
Waning peaceful.