Indian Winter

Well, I guess it finally happened,
Like thunder screaming
Into the darkness,
The sky is broken
And a chilly embrace
Has descended in the form
Of an Indian Winter,
Wrapped within the unkempt guise
Of fanfares of tempests.

I lie awake,
Silence swimming
Like swirls of stale smoke,
Vibrating in absolute stillness,
Metamorphosing into a harmony
Sung in the key of
Faded dusk blue,
As I broodingly stew
In the solemn mood
Of Poe’s Lenore

Silver has stained
The corners of the night
With cobwebs and deceit;
Pretty, seductive things
That live in the back of my mind.
And I have been sold
To a band of roving sorcerers,
Floating in the aethereal
Until the shades of gray
Fade from pitch black to day
Leaving the scene before me
Stained with white.

And billowing fluffs
Of crystalized clouds
Float and spin to the ground
Like ashes,
Burying the corpses
Of my summer dreams
As they softly resonate
Like a solitary string
Persistently enduring
An expired crescendo
At the end of
A vibrant concerto.