Red, yellow, green…
They’re all I see
Flying backward in time
Into dimensions of warm autumn colors
Heads spinning
Dizzy dreams weaving together
Like our hands
Intertwining

Red, yellow, green…
All of them pull me back
Back to that moment
Under the stars,
Breathing symphonies
Of crisp air
Lungs tired and feet sore
The stars shining in your eyes like sparklers

Red, yellow, green…
The crunch of the leaves as we run
Run to fly again
Above the heads of people
I could never love like you
Sleeping like the butterflies
Softly lulling us into submission

Red, yellow, green
The color of the leaves
But also
The colors of our voyeuristic lips as the day went on
The colors of the golden lights that lit the way home
The color of your army jacket wrapped around me
The colors of fall
That day in October
Where you and I were more than ourselves.

We were heroes.

my favorite month

not just because of halloween

I love it,
when the weather gets chilly,
the people more cozy,
the coffee shops crowded - yes, i even love that.

when the leaves are dying
and  the trees prepare for the silence of winter
and every last bits of summer are gone.

If your heart is full, it must be October again
annexed in California land
every whistle and bell silenced
by Indian summer contraband
Coffee from Zimbabwe
Crimson petals on the sheets
smile in the sunlight, dance to Billie Holiday and repeat.

It's a cool October morning
on campus
across the way children play
you see college students make their way from one class to another
living out these lives that vary from
one existence into another

meanwhile, children play
and all the way these adults
to some and not others
make their way
some pretending
some barely surviving
some ridicule the experience
some express gratitude
because it's all some of us really have
this chance
that one day a future worth living may arise

and then all the while, children play
see,
we all wish we could turn back this clock that
lays both in our existence and our imagination
this clock
that holds these memories
that tells us we're far
and then so near
in the blink of an eye
tells us there may be something to fear
because by chance
one in a few
may not make it

all the while children play
we reminisce about our time
we tell ourselves we wish to turn back to the simple moments
but the truth is
this clock lays partially into existence
so that we may think back
and grasp what we didn't at the time
so that we may act
in accordance
when it comes time

its a cool October morning
on campus
across the way children play
as I make my way

The season has changed
the colours are bright
the calm sway of a breeze
forces leaves to take flight

The blanket that comforts the sky
leaves frost over thickening blades
the crimson bonfire blaze
lights the sky for days

Pumpkins and apple pies
grace October with glee
the sweet smoke of burning wood
gently caress my fears to free

Conkers fall at my feet
kissed by natures protective force
the mellowed sweetness and starry skies
softly lighten winter’s course

It's october, the time for thrills
the time for kills, the time for chills.

the spooky skeleton rise from thine grave
to steal your bones, to make you pray.
mercy you begged for, none be granted,
stripped of your royal skin, now a slave.

Whom must I obey? you wondered,
the headless knight, or the pumpkin Queen?
The Skeleron King, or the Devil within?
it doesn't matter, it's a time for fun,
even in death, it'll all be fine.

Punsih all those who doth not obey,
Trick them all, and heed my call.

Treat is a myth, it doth not exist
even if candy they give, you trick them, insist.
Halloween is a time of horror,
being merciful is certainly not the answer.

go out in the night, do not be scared,
the darkness IS your silk protection.
grab a pumkin, the screaming latern,
by the end of the night it'll be filled with skeletons.

But speak no more of the spooky world,
and gaze into the life of the livings.
instead of spooky they made it joyful,
plenty'o candy is what they think for.

theres no skeleton, no headless knight,
none of the pumpkins are even alive.
to them, we are corpse;
to us, we are the living.
and only on the 31st
can our spooky hunger thirst for hunting.

After the 31st is the 1st,
and then it's time to rest.
lay down back in the ground, a corpse,
filled with sorrow, the living remorse.
But that is fine, for I shall move again
in 364 days, just you wait.

sky licked by flame
branches become fingers feeling
for the throat of the night
     clouds cast over crescent moon
the cloth concealing the blade
hanging in suspense while
     shadows make their way
up vacant streets toward
hollow voices echoing from
     inside the corner house
where nothing's as it seems
where children wake from
fever dreams to piercing screams
     and darkness