Autumn

Autumn is the shortest season I had. With the colors of bliss and winds of hope. With rustling trees and rustling leaves.

He would burn under my warm naked feet

His scent enveloping my emptiness

Enveloping my mediocrity with his reason

He'd color me in his own, temperate and warm

Dousing my fire with soul, thirsty and tender

Burning from within bright as ember

Autumn is like the coming of joy, for a brief time, after a pregnant wait. With crops to be reaped and shared.

Engulfing me in his earthiness he lay next to me

Wrapping me in his wispy odour he lay

I feared holding him in my arms, lest he crumbles

He'd look down and smile with his cracked autumn lips

Diving into my worrisome eyes into the depths of abysmal heart

 Tearing it apart with the likeness of Descartes

When birds have had their fill and tuck in to brace the chilly winds, autumn is there, a respite a brief pause from the reality of nature.

My guest of few blinks he'd be

My guest of fleeting bliss

When the winds die down O' autumn

Will you still be here or long gone?

Autumn is the shortest season I had

With his vivid charm and breeze

Then came winter, who never seemed to cease