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raenPoems
Tracing back… that is what I am doing now, just tracing back along this woodland path, in an attempt to grasp remnants of a time when I felt so alive, yet dying. Thoughts and memories, they fall like these leaves, a melange of confusion, beauty and frailty Swept away by the wind, scattered or swept into a pile, unified. Either way, they can be stomped on, brittle leaves crushed into a satisfying crunch. All around me, there’s a profusion of vermilion, gold and copper but those reds have always been my favorite— so alive, yet can also mean bleeding. I see a pumpkin carved out, a creepy smile adorning its face A chuckle escapes from my lips, remembering that time when laughter lived in harmony with love. Now, I am not sure anymore… Because how can something that had so much hope, so verdant, change? I am a fool, for the answers are so obvious— I only need to look at these leaves. So much like our lives, these seasons… Not very long, I will be staring up at argentine skies. The thought of it gives me chills— I pray for spring.
0
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 11:13 AM UTC
Fall of a Melancholic
Tracing back… that is what I am doing now, just tracing back along this woodland path, in an attempt to grasp remnants of a time when I felt so alive, yet dying. Thoughts and memories, they fall like these leaves, a melange of confusion, beauty and frailty Swept away by the wind, scattered or swept into a pile, unified. Either way, they can be stomped on, brittle leaves crushed into a satisfying crunch. All around me, there’s a profusion of vermilion, gold and copper but those reds have always been my favorite— so alive, yet can also mean bleeding. I see a pumpkin carved out, a creepy smile adorning its face A chuckle escapes from my lips, remembering that time when laughter lived in harmony with love. Now, I am not sure anymore… Because how can something that had so much hope, so verdant, change? I am a fool, for the answers are so obvious— I only need to look at these leaves. So much like our lives, these seasons… Not very long, I will be staring up at argentine skies. The thought of it gives me chills— I pray for spring.
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raen
Written by
raen
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 11:13 AM UTC
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