deepundergroundpoetry.com

Autumn's Delight

Heavy sounds of motorists
� �moving in cars and trucks somewhere
� � �in the Tuesday air of autumn.
Tremble, the smoldering violence
� � �of gnawing flames.

Surrounded by greenery-hinted plays of gold,
� � �swaying looms in the browning threads of orange,
� � �a peel of breeze,
� � �the dramatic pause of highway musing,
That sporadic drone of humanity,
� � �its dreams.

Nothing but barren death these dreams,
� � �trailing into and out of that great western sky
� � � � � � � � �where sits the emperor of day,
Though merely one spinning globe of ageless fire,
� � �shining its silence like a flame of candle in the dark.
It washes the fervent night from the grass,
� � �and rivers the wide expanse,
Diminishes any illusion of personal struggle and fame.
There are no favorites here, nothing evil,
� � �only the rolling whisper of light
� � �in what we call the day.

Almost forever, here
� � �beneath the blankets of muffled sunshine,
We are shadowed in the holiness
� � �of soon-to-be winter clouds,
Approached by the slow sounds of crisply
� � �fallen leaves,
� � �the branch laden grassiness of sidewalk
� � � � � �autumn chalk.

Pruned limbs in tatters
� � �under spacious hooded oaks,
As the highway holds its quiet notes
� � �below this trilling song of noon,
The song of fluted birds
And time, the great consumer,
� � �clothed in flesh and mind
� � � � � � � � �sitting contented
� � � � � � � � �in the leaves.

� � �