The leaves know their circumstance-
They see it in the others crying,
Giving glances along the lines perchance
To find their reason for dying.

Given no answers, they assume instead
Doom and gloom is the only reason
But inevitably, with shaken head-
They muster to spite their final season

Dying more beautifully than they ever were living
Till the the last winds breath... they sing-

(This fall, it will be our last~
But why let our pain be known?~
Life is over, much to fast~
But why is it always shown?~
Tonight- We leaves will fight!~
We'll fend away the winter clouds~
So live your life underneath the light~
Age Spectacularly and Die Proud!~)

You there – suspended loftily in air;
Your feathers so shiny and sleek -
Tell me; What do you know, Brother Crow,
Of that which I always seek?

What are you hiding, while wind-riding?
What? Something about flying alone?
I want to know; My Brother Crow,
About my oft dreamt-of home.

The ever sky filled with azure dye;
It must speak to you of freedom -
And it may be true, but only for you,
Our grounded lives are already done.

For me; Can you show those fields, of melted snow?
Those obsidian peaks beneath the so-blue Sea?
I truly need to go, Brother Crow,
But why won't you ever take me?

You there – suspended haughtily in air;
Your feathers so shiny and sleek-
Tell me; What could you know, Selfish Crow,
Of that which I always seek?

I seek beauty in rhyme and tense,
The dreams that colors earn-
The roots of my aesthetic sense
Are things I have yet to learn.

To find a hope in reversing thoughts
Means shifting paradigms is a pleasure;
Beliefs striving, fighting and fought
With metaphor in equal measure.

Then! A trick, a shift we weather,
A path down which we fall-
And then you see, its not just me,
Somehow we end up together.

For we sought beauty with rhyme and tense;
Those dreams of they who yearn,
So in defense of aesthetic sense
To those metaphors I will return.

I lay one night under a wan lamp-light
Thinking of the pursuit of absolutes.
I couldn’t find the needed time
To analyze what I wanted to.

So - This thinking slowly turned to dreaming
And later these few things I did recount,
- A vacant view of wasting progress,
A reversal of streams to their fount.

A deconstruction of action, some cosmic reduction,
Some flight of things that mattered.
The inexorable picking of lock-step existing-
Dreamfields broken. Syntax battered.

Then this slowing movement rose
To some crest in my mocking mind;
And in horror, I met the morrow
with new respect for the conceptually refined-

For the march of progress, the passion in potential,
The power of merely thinking!
For in our discourses of absolute forces
What could be worse than the erasure of meaning?

I like these ideas and they fill me with pleasure-
My words like lances, striking this earthly tether,
And transcending common thought, engaging the forever.

For you see, what gives me the pleasure out of poetry,
Is knowing someone has read it, and has experienced me-

They now know my thoughts, what I choose to pen.
A carefully constructed facade, in a truthful, youthful blend;
Open hearts given a start will break apart into words of art,
And all these beautiful things, will end.

However, the end doesn't mean that there won't be a beginning,
There's no falsehood in wonder, questioning isn't sinning.

Poets are the explorers, the builders with words,
They explore the condition, through adjectives and verbs-
They give chase to the worlds flights of fancy,
They are the ones who dream of romancing.

But.... why are we so often, not heard?

What would you say to me
If I told you that all things
have a name?

A name, created forever ago-
A name singular, secret and sacred-
A name that grants form?

What if I told you
that if you cried out
The Name of the Moon,

You could bathe at mid-day
under its dappled, failing shine-
playing partner to its light?

That if you called to the skies
you could surround yourself
with a span of azure infinity,

Paint sun-songs with hidden words,
Or caress cloud-worn creations while
floating in blue nothingness?

To think; You could merely utter
The Name of Oceans - That
vast implication; You could

Summon distant, breaking shores
for your own inspection and approval-
To satisfy the simplest curiosity?

Would you say it was a fantasy?
Something grand to ponder;
And then regretfully forget?

That to strum the chords of creation
with key-words and mere intentions,
Is a blasphemy?

But what if... What if
I spoke to you the Name of Love,
As soft as daylight-sighs ending?

Would you scoff at my audacity,
To arrogantly manipulate its meaning
by not letting it go free?

Or would you realize, and see-
That despite all that power, I can't find
the name for what you mean to me?

This man; His heart was close to frozen
And forever ached for time to thaw it.
He had worked on his warmth-wont wall
So that no one could ever hurt him.

His hands held the kinds of worried warmth
Known to men who were short on time,
As if life was merely granted, not given
And could be taken at proper sign.

So he slowly started to lose himself
In the wild winters of an improper world,
Growing numb to others troubles,
But then he met the girl -

And she beautifully betrayed him,
So his walls were brought back in force.
To never again let the sunlight in,
To never let emotion beget remorse.