Blighted by Autumn's burdensome bane,
This world tenders no more than a wince so slight
And an embittered farewell to the utopian summer
As it is devoured by a chill so wicked;
The cold - it thrashes so mercilessly, a pitiless lash against flesh so raw;
Legions of leaves collapse upon grass so sallow
Fiery-colored corpses of soldiers so condemned;
Autumn, a creature so barbarous, so ravenous, preys upon felicity;
From stark minds it siphons the blithe, the dreams birthed by summer
Yielding a monotonous world, so severely bleak, so sorrowfully hollow
With a heart so harrowed
And soul so splintered;
Like the wind, summer slithers through the breaches of forlorn fingers
Swallowed by abyss
Bequeathing no more than a whispered promise to return once more;
And so we wait, for the sweet salvation which may never arrive.
As humans, our greatest consolation is delusion.