Fall Funk

[Peredhil]

the Ladies exchange their healthy greens

for each tattered decaying ballroom gown

which look pretty until the breezes blow

and bring them tumbling down.

 

The stench of mold, death, and decay

send fetid odors into air

the dying of the seasonal sun

brings shivers and the mood dispair.

 

'Tis the season for all to hibernate

'though snow bunnies stick around

and annoying people scream and shout

kicking ballroom leaves around.

[SoaringIcarus]

How flavorfully bleak the Autumn may be. I myself just wrote a piece on Autumn. Although it is only dim in comparison to yours, (and I am wary of posting one piece of writing in more than one place) perhaps this thread would be an adequate place to put Autumn poetry. It's such a very neglected theme. Thank you for all of your pleasant comments peredhil31, you write beautifully. (Friendly hugs)

 

They weren’t leaves. They had no such purpose at that point; they were jutting particles adhered flatly to every surface. It was as if, by color alone, they attempted to infuse the atmosphere with blotches of joy under a bruised sky. The streets were slick with too much glue, not enough paper and the only thing I could think of was how hideous orange is except within the context of great quantity. Muted wind-chimes were slicked against themselves like song birds stapled to a building side and nobody much cared.

 

On another day, I had seen powerful trees lining a dusty path, and wished for nothing except to laugh or cry while shaking my bowed head that exerted emotions from my face, ricocheting off of my heart into god knows what. The sun had begun setting an hour before, with the sky still a rich blue glowing healthily, and yet foreign wigs atop bowed heads sat messily clumped in the finest gradation of color. It was like having the sunset all day long. Their individuality at it’s height of manifestation was awe-inspiring to simple me who passed below their hundreds of whispering complexities. Ages ago, it seemed, there was only this large wall of green blocking my path, regardless of how the road was set; a single listless face. But then, only in that late hour, did they morph into their own being before dissolving inevitably into twisted paralyzation. Such a sad thing, that only as they wilted could they achieve something great . Their prime was spent in bold greenery with little deviation from faceless brothers, never reaching the zenith of fulfillment. They stood tall and not discernable. They never knew.

 

 

Edited by: SoaringIcarus at: 11/18/02 12:47:52 pm