The sun has fallen
And september came

October settled
With his autumn rain

The sun resist
But he is so cold

He made a fight
To protect us

But darkness rising
And they are so strong

And attractive
And beautiful

A poet is a bird with clipped wings,
Plummeting from the sky.

One who's dying words are not calculated,
Not woven,
Not cultivated
Rhymed
Rhythemed
Repeated
Recorded.

The words are pure.
Simple
Sound
Sung
Then silent.

They are only meant for the wind to hear.

That way the wind can
Whisper
Watch
Whistle
Warble

What if the winds rattling
Window pain

Is actually your loved ones
Last lullaby?

What if the weeping of the wind
Fosters fear former forgotten?

i wish knowing you're not worth the words is enough to make me stop writing about you.

but apparently, it's not.

walking with you
in the october air
colored leaves
swirling around us
the taste of pumpkin spice
and whipped cream
lingers on your lips
autumn hums
her pretty song
a hand in mine
stepping on leaves
i don't think
i'll ever leave

someone’s talking love on a summer night
i sit and wonder why you were the only thought that came to mind
like cigarettes to a reminiscer of about 50 times ago, when they almost quit
i think october, when words came from my lips like diamonds—they were ugly in my mind, but i spit them out
and you called me pretty
when mixes from that year turn around and crackle softly i can’t help but miss the tears that lamented so long ago
when i could feel about you
i won’t pretend to understand those mindless fancies, but i see then that ocean which reflects the moon
and play clair de lune, which
i avow to do for you but it’s for me—
i’m playing to forget, or feel
that’s what we players do
money and music, it’s numbing or galvanizing; it’s up to selection
i’m losing the latter but it sometimes catches up with me
the hotness that rolls in waves or in a fast descant,
tears
and then i remember for one moment in the summer after two years
how it felt to cry and to be fettered by you

I wish for autumn
The flowing leaves
The crisp Smell
The chilly dew

Autumn is so rare
These days we only get
Hot air and heavy breathing
Burning sun and burnt skin

There's no win
If you love autumn
It comes and goes
Quicker then my woes

I wish I lived
In nonstop autumn
The oranges and reds
The fairies and witches
Roaming amok

something about the moon
Glosses over in fog
With bats flying above
Leaves me feeling in love

My heart aches for these days
But come they may
They leave and I feel betrayed
For then everything dies

Like my heart
In the winter cries
I can't help it
I hate everything in life
But the beautiful chill
Of October

A mber leaves and golden fields glisten in the morning sun
    as farmers work each day to finish the harvest.
    After all  is done, the warmth of family welcomes them home.

U nfazed by the moonlight, a football field fills to the brim
    as school colors filter into the stands full of hopeful fans.
    All the while, friends huddle under blankets avoiding the chill.

T rucks fill pumpkin patches as families pick out decorations for
    their porches,
    and friends enjoy corn mazes, hayrack rides, and haunted trails.
    The excitement for Halloween grows like a wildfire as the day
    draws near.

U nder each roof, families come together for Thanksgiving:
    savory turkey, green beans, and pumpkin pie.
    The rest of the day is spent visiting with satisfied appetites.

M any girls search their closets to find sweaters
     for warmth and comfort as they try to ward off the crisp autumn
     air.
     Wrapped in soft, cozy cotton, the evening soon becomes as
     exciting as ever.

N othing can compete with all I love about fall:
    candy apples, pumpkin spice, sweaters, and fallen leaves.
    Needless to say, I am partial to the
                                       chilly nights,
                                            Halloween frights,
                                                 and football lights.