Several seekers speak to me
across the cold canvasses
pursuing something spiritually
or something that is merely
beyond the wind-swept trees,
those frigid fingers that formerly held
the beautiful leaves that so recently fell.

Little black-eyed buggy boy,
dimpled cheek cute as can be
stares strangely back at me,
like he is some sort of three dee
anime character that is breaking
the third wall
without whispering anything at all.

Little light sprites
warming their mushrooms seats
as they prepare to rush at me
if I get too close,
scanning me with those
dark coal
eyes,

and that large eyed
voluptuous
red haired
bar maid
that is trying to escape
this frosty day
but has lost her way
in the winding wooden
labyrinth,

whilst somewhere in
the mystic evening
an abstract astral plain
elven spirit blows
those little light sprites cont.
into a new life
like they were bubbles.

Till, the harsh crescent moon
beckons my little darling
upwards towards
its skull white form.
Earth’s dreaming daughter
flies as she dies,
and with her goes
all the shades of those
old daydreams
in these October paintings.