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Autumn leaves fly
in the wind, blow
across the land, crumble
under foot, and color
soil in shades alive.
Pages flutter,
as books are read,
folio all, tapestry
of words, sprinkle
silently across sight.
People wisp away
from our life, littering
memory with faint
remnants, crumbling heart,
and stalling soul.
© 2009 Lisa G. Beaudoin
Novels We Could Never Write
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The helicopters are out in force again. The whir of propellers has become
so commonplace since the morning of October 7th that the sound has faded
into the...
2 hours ago
1 comment:
I love this poem! Wow. Especially the last stanza.
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