When autumn’s orange
Paints the skyline,
The forest’s towering spires
Robbed of their sacred green,
I still see us there, long ago,
Climbing—practiced hands
And skillful feet—rising up like
paper lanterns to mountain heights
To take our place above the world.
The wind would howl, almost
Imploring—through the mighty
Limbs, threatening to shake us
Free—to just let go, to wrap our
Arms around the sky, and fall
Or fly; we were hypnotized
By danger’s seductive plea,
Staring into the face of forever,
Shouting, “We believe in the chaos.”
But now the light is dwindling,
Solemnly forsaking the day,
And those memories are fading,
Vague and voiceless in the gray.