The thin skeleton trees 
in midnight blue dresses
Sway in the sparkling streets,
And reach their arms to the sky
Some still boast a firey red,
And blow Ruby kisses from high

Autumn, it's raining

the old dejection again --


of my frightened heart.

October butterflies
game against blue skies,
wind that gusts indifferent

fading buddleia’s
purple sashes
give one last hurrah
to the peacock, admiral,
as the lowering sun
sees through wings that were

#autumn #fall #october #butterflies #turnturnturn

this gloomy,
sunshine.
these cloudy,
rays.
the softness in,
these Fall days.

There's this secret box under my bed...
It's for you...yes...for you
When you enter my room...
Please don't draw the curtains
The place holds my darkness and secrets...
It doesn't need the touch of light...
But the flame of the candle will support you...
Take the box and open it
You will find some stuff holding memories
of us from centuries...
Ignore them for a while
Take a look at that bundle of old yellow pages...
These are the poems I couldn't dare to complete
Do me a favor...complete them for me...please
I left spaces for your part
Write about yourself...
Write about us...
The typewriter is still on the table...
These pages do hold my soul and tears...
Do treasure it...it's the last of us
As for the secret box, take it or burn it
When you leave my place...with the poems, with our moments breathing alive in them...
Head towards that park with pink bougainvilleas...
which must be brown now...
Sit on that wooden bench under the banyan tree
And read all those poems containing us...
You will find me alive in those verses...
Give those pages your soul and tears too...
At least we'll be together there
Do not forget taking the last stroll in that park
Because...I have left the town forever.

Autumn's light leaves me
Wanting,
Seeming
Wrong.

Summer's light raided me,
Burning,
Yearning
Strong.

Spring's light lilted me,
Promising,
Blossoming
Songs.

Winter's cold glow chilled me,
Accosting,
Frosting
Long.

But, dismal Autumnal light,
Warns me,
Scorns me...
Go!

Ah, the fallacy
in talk of tree limbs
and fragments of the broken-apart.

                     Those scars opened a rare window
                     below the cloud tops
                     and into her room,
                     where a new dress of fallen leaves
                     hung in her wardrobe,
                     fleshing out her understanding
                     of how that blemish
                     lingered long enough for
                     her own intentions,
                     hidden behind the frown,
                     to surface.

The myth in her eyes
wishing they could say,
"Might we share this fall together?"