an autumn whisper

i follow the breeze to the chill of the graves

standing like a statue of teardrop and haze

i guess thats how life is

i guess thats the way

i see a single star in the sky

to match the one tear in my eye



and i turn and walk silently away

to revel in the forces i cant begin to explain

perhaps its the glow of an autumn decay

ill breathe in the dust of the dawn

and velvet this nightingales song

it fades



and then what could have been a million years passes by

a million different reasons to live or to die

to sway my arms open and melt with the sky



is that all

is this the world crashing down

a silent prisoner to these words all around

the quiet hum of sorrow can be an unbearable sound

and i cant even hear the leaves fall

or the nights calm surrender at all



this is it

my journey to join the unknown

its nothing more than a wasted sunset you know

a shadowed figure haunting a desperate glow

and ill swing on the sound of the dawn

and soon all these tears will be gone

nothing but me and the beyond

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Becky Weeks's picture

this piece really intrigued me. i like your way with words. you manipulate very well.

Amy Fitzgerald's picture

This is such an incredible piece of work. It's casually sophistocated; unmistakable rhyme mingled with rhythmic freedom.

In the depths of sorrow, it is often our only hope to "swing on the sound of the dawn..."