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Autumn of Defeat

How peculiar the dawn, blemished with its preternatural blue,
Of a parallel world, a cause and effect, for everything we do.
How many here's until we get to there's?
Or these days just to anywhere.

The big tree, was afflicted with a melancholic wavering,
That summer was just a flamboyant fling.
The leaves will bleed colors of fire.
Before the tree chooses to retire.

But first a chaos of soul tantalizing color competes.
The summer green of yesterday becomes a decaying obsolete.
The belief that the good lasts forever.
In the grand autumn of defeat.
Written by deliabear (Debbie)
Published
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