Autumn Calls in the Dark
Copper tones of dying leaves taste the blood of evening’s fading light;
Merlot sunsets toast to a night of empty landscapes.
Not a soul strolls along the ghostly streets,
Only the wind speaks kindly on their behalf.
Desert Mountain Range
Oceans of sand encompass the rocky edges
Of a colossal stone fortress touching the clouds–
Trapping those inside its sun-bleached depths
In a prison of their own isolation
The Hue of You
This is the way we chose to play
With our fingers crossed and our tongues tied
Setting the typeface–curved, italicized–
On the page of our boldfaced lie.
I collect the scraps of borrowed time
You stole from my sleep,
Fold them neatly against a ruined space
Neither one of us chose to keep,
And it is haunted by your design
And it is a relic of our unspoken goodbye.
Crooked avenues lay waiting
To underline this fault of mine
When I suddenly realize
That you have stained all the beauty
I held within sight.
The sidewalk weeps a sickly gray
As the rain drains away
The ghost of your mistake.
But water can never cleanse the bitter taste,
Puddles can never fade
The hue of you
Permeating my rose-colored escape.