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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
Free Yourself and Your Writing Will Follow: Killing Self-Censorship
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Anyone who’s ever taken a writing class knows that good writing cannot be
created without taking some sort of risk. It’s a maxim that holds true for
just...
10 hours ago
1 comment:
I love this poem! Wow. Especially the last stanza.
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