Turned away,
No more say,
Just leave.
Deep red hues
Busting over hills.
Leaves pulled by rain.
Autumn tune of vibrant life
and dying all at once.
Train's whistle in distance.
No more words to say.
Just leave.
Let me be.
Let it be.

Time whipped into a lacy dress.
About ankles with an upturned face.
Short cut curls and hanging veil.
Upturned face with glowing smile.
Handsome man in morning suit
With gloved hand holding the laced arm.
Wedding cake delicately held.
Now, a dream of the past black and white.
Another with gown sweeping at the ground.
Long blonde hair held up in pins.
A man in dress mess grinning down.
Walking beneath arched swords.
Glossy in color within a book.
Tomorrow a low dipped gown.
A knowing smile.
A quick little service
With a loud wild party.
Just how it is.

Going to meet with Gemma!
Did you pack my special pants?
We can pack when I get back!
Don't touch that bag!
See ya later!
Maybe not!
College tomorrow.
I'm so gone.

Now I take thee
As my bride, by my side,
As my family;
Now I take thee
for my own;
For me to cherish;
For me to have;
Now I take thee
this autumn day,
my beautiful bride;
full of pride,
full of hope.
My Mary, my wife.
Now I take thee
as my own.
Love me,
As I love you.

Running down the edge;
Toward the bottom;
The last bit of the storm.
No more thunder.
No more lightning.
Just the reminder.
The last drip.
Glistening in the sun.
Power surrendered;
Glistening in the heat of day.

The desk sat on the edge of the woods;
The pretty wood on top was weathered;
The shine had left the wood;
The wood wanted to splinter under my hand.
The drawers were shut and locked
At the back of the desk,
The burnt  orange color browning with time.
The corners pushed out as once it had
In the office with drawers.
The piece that rolled out for signatures
Hung loosely at the front.
Mourning all undone
On the heavy top of the old desk.
Perhaps to repair and start again.
Led to the edge of the forest by ghosts;
The spirits pulling at me to this old spot.
To let me see what lay waste.
Pained by the failure.
The missed opportunity of what could have been.
The work undone.
The skill let gone.
The thought set free to rain and sun.

If only I knew,
What to stew.
I'd fill my ***
With a lot.
And let you sip
Until you slip
And let me be
Your only she.
I am no such witch,
I am just a itch.
A chore,
Never one to adore.
No such brew,
Nothing new.
Just  me.
Never we.