Autumn is fading
Trees once clothed with amber leaves
Stand exposed again

I am full of memories
painted on our ceiling
when we were just two kids
and the rain wasn't hurting anyone

do you remember the smell of smoke
coming from the leaves our mother used to set fire to?
remember the November sunsets
when we'd play stupid games
and none of us was a winner?

remember how we used to sit in front of the fire
playing cards and drinking wine
we thought our lives would be like a smooth sailing on the ocean
yet here we are
miles away from each other
and the music doesn't sound the same
and our cards are missing
still no one is a winner

still
the smell of burning leaves wakes me up at night
still
we are apart
and the wine we drink daily
has no taste
and we keep on playing
even though our lives are like a wrecked ship
in the middle of an ocean that's always dark
we are still lying to ourselves
but deep inside we do know
the wine has changed its colour

and so did our eyes.

much  darker they are
much clumsier our fingers
much number the feelings

and
somewhere,
the leaves are falling
and they are burning
we just can't smell them
                       anymore.

There was a river
sixteen miles north the highway
where we lost our sins

and sent them downstream,
where they wash their hoods with them.
White like oppression.

When we hang our heads,
they're behind us with the rope.
The same as ever.

Dry your eyes children,
the fight for bread has ended.
We fight to survive.

There is an answer
to why every privileged
******* can't write;

They talk of heaven,
they preach about angels and
how they might sing, yeah,

but haven't seen one.
They haven't listened to them
and cannot hear them.

***** rhetoric
applauding their enclosure
as the door closes.

Brain dead featherweights
tethered by their bibles and
white supremacy.

"Ideology"
cult of the soul without a
purple beating heart.

***** rhetoric;
repeat Frances Scott Key and
emphasize landscape.

We've all seen the fields,
we know how green the grass is,
and how blue the sea.

Biblical visions;
worship "democracy" and
call your leader "king".

"ideology"
a mask for supremacy.
***** rhetoric.

You're going to choke
and you can't have the angels
after you **** them.

Pass me the vase, will you dear
I've picked some flowers to place in it
They are purple, yellow, white and red
Don't they just make you smile

I will place them by your bed
So when you retire for the night
You won't miss the beauty
That's painted on their faces

Take a moment, will you
To appreciate their worth
Lean in close and take a sniff
Their fragrance is most genuine

And as you wake, remember
I've placed those flowers there
For you to enjoy and adore
If only for a season

You are a benevolent visitor
Inaudible as my dreams
Everything you touch
Turns to crystal and white

Oh how my eyes delight
In your beautiful patterns
As you lay quietly upon glass
Can you stay forever?

My flesh abhors you
For the sting you administer
yet Autumn's half-stripped trees
Wear you as a morning garment

I do blame the sun
As it shortens your reign
Your brevity intensifies my desire
To see you on the morrow

As I take a look at the book on the dusted end table.  The pages hugging like too many people in a subway going too many places all with the same stop. The cover being the perfect misrepresentation of its contents. Comfortablely controlling the chaos that lays upon its tree filled inters. Words have been violently thrashed on to each page. Filled with names, verbs, destinations all of which were unexpected and uninvited.

I cradle this book into my dry palms. Run my imperfect fingertip across the spine with a chill. Pry back the very protective cover created to keep strangers from entering it's home. My eyes cast over the detailed words implanted on the inner walls. Absorbing each and every miniscule idea from the stationary knowledge upon each page.

Days pass as the final page has arrived. The book is placed back on the end table. Lonely and longing. We are far too similar me and this book. We both share a cover used to show too many people too little about the brilliance we hold. Too many people have passed us up without giving a second thought. There have been words typed into my brain stem without me asking for them to be put there. Every single person that explores us will find different knowledge