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i feel your goodbye
with every leaf that falls to the ground.

every letter that finds a way
past my lips, is embraced in grief

you know nothing of this,
here not only are trees bare &  empty

but it's almost as if i can hear them

there is voice in the wind
fluttering past me,
something like a poem
something like your name

there is still so much of you,
all around me

there is still so much of me
i left with love to you

pt. III

where is it I go

falling leaf asks of the oak

to your destiny


rob kistner © 2018
I wanna paint a picture of
How much fall hurts
Like a maple leaf dipped in gold
Ripped from my skin,
Leaving behind parallel lines
And dark days
It makes me sleepy,
Cold, and nauseous
A rally for blood and depression
It leaves me wanting people near,
But oh so alone
The yellow and orange
Hurts so bad
This is what my fall looks like.
Fluffy clouds float by
Trees still in warm summer mode
Magpies on rooftops
Inspired whilst out today :)
Rain falling on the decomposing leaves
cold autumn air breathed in warm lungs
the wind blows muttering ghost stories
into our ears.

Pumpkins carved into wickedly twisted smiles
as we dress up for Halloween discos and parties with style
gathering sweets as we go
while the full moon glows.

Bonfires built as we wait for the 5th of November
when fireworks will explode and sparkle in the night sky
we remember the gun powder plot
as we toast marshmallows on the bonfire.
the leaves are falling from the trees
a bundle of reds and browns and greens
the cold air begins to settle in
it rests on your chest, making its home there
slowly becoming a never ending shiver
the color dropping from your eyes
just like the dying leaves
your eyes soon become as dull as the ***** trees

but i will swallow the sun to keep you warm
holding you between my arms
allowing the reds and browns and greens
to continue to thrive in your eyes
i will tuck away the cold
for the iciness of autumn brings the falling apart
and i would rather fall together
the boy with forest eyes thrives in the spring and summer, but the colder months bring a dull look to his eyes. he changes with the seasons, autumn seems to be the hardest.
Josh G 3d
Can you hear the trees sing
In this October breeze?
Can you see the dance
Of the wooden giants
In their dance hall glade?
Come lay witness to
The shedding of the leaves
Under this blanket
Of overcast skies
Been awhile since I last wrote. I had a picture to go with this poem. I was at work walking through an area I maintain looking for fallen or dead trees to cut down when I noticed a leaf that perfectly looked like a heart.
(I told the moon...)

A wide, lanterned space shines with excitement
autumn nights....are just perfect for a moondance
the harvest, music, joy shared, all bring enchantment
atmosphere smells sweet, fragrant with love and romance

this magical moment inebriates...sounds are high
full lemon moon glows on a pumpkin patch...i stare
at orange mums, lovely, 'neath a limitless, starry sky
i told the moon, all must enjoy.....this night is rare...

fine time to dance.....it's the perfect season
i sip pumpkin-flavored coffee.....windblown hair
matters not..but, joy is not all, i sense some tension
i told the moon........this night better be fair...

laughter and good music should echo tonight
yet, the dark hears sighs.....air smells of despair,
silhouettes shun the light....quickly, they multiply
i told the moon.............this just isn't fair...

two cold, empty, fallen chairs create shadows
a sad, tumbled story told in the dark, who knows?
yes...it dominates, that sweet scent of harvest air
still, i ask the moon...when will love ever be fair?

fireflies are waning...dying in the dark
for some, magic is nowhere, it suddenly stopped
the dull, the gray, the sadness...all so stark,
music goes on...will the spark ever be back?...perhaps!


Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 17, 2018
The rain is falling
The clouds are feeling moody
Just like the pavements
It’s been raining all day so far x
Where is the feather light
pile of leaves to fall
        Instead, I find a brisk descent into
        a pitch dark night of the heart.
Here, there are only
Monday's and the 9-5, forever,
                                                     with the
                                         pitter patter
                                                  of someone else's fun
                                                                ­                 in the other room.
I tear at the red dirt, screaming,
to find new growth.
    but find only
I rattle my cage, and spit at the lock
singing a hymn
for an autumn
                          in black.
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