Renewal Dying
The Roses waft in autumn's wake.
Petals Dried and left to husk.
The whispered words do taunt and Take.
Softening Cries amidst the Dusk.
The Garrotte Slips about the Neck.
Chilling Corpse to flesh and bone.
Dead left for the crows to peck.
The hand of death is swiftly known.
Winters fast with call of wind.
Hard to bite and hailing thunder.
Tearing tree, bough and limb.
Shredding foliage and shrubs asunder.
Silence.
Harsh, impacting and piercing silence.
Marred by little but the soft and warm.
Little is the Rage or budding violence.
Little is the Fury of the coming Storm.
The Calm.
Funnel's churning like a Tempest wrath.
Showering coating the lands of yonder.
As if the land were but taking a bath.
I roam the meadows and proceed to wander.
The roses bloom anew my child, quietly this spring.
Such a pleasure this moment my child. Such a wonderful thing.
Soon the weather breaks from rain.
Soon the summers heat does call.
Chilling air is stocked and lain.
And summer soon gives way to Fall.
The Roses waft in Autumns wake.
But no one seems to care.
The earth is dying for gods sake!
Yet no one seems to care.
We live amongst the trash we make.
But not a soul seems to care.
We chill the summer and winter bake.
And not a soul cares.
'Tis a sad day for the Renewal of life.
A glorious day for pain and strife.
The petals fall on the earthen bed.
And not a soul cares.
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