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.

Written by Oshinome
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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