Writing

Do you still find comfort 
In the way the leaves change 
Green to orange to red to green again?  
Do your clothes still smell like apples and spices?  
Do you still drink cider 

sorrows and prayers.

are you a child or a bride?
 

thief, don't pray for me

Fall often 

Stains our world brown, 

Leaves the color 

Of an old ruddy gold, 

Their tips dry, 

Crinkling with the cold 

Tick tick tick

I watch as my clock keeps moving forward…time with it.

I want it to stop moving forward. 
I want it to stop time itself

Tick tick tick…

It’s almost dinner time but I’m not hungry.

You say you want to see fall from my perspective, 
and I laugh, thinking of every maple tree 
I’ve leaned against, 
hands stained by apples split open, 
the cider I’ve spilled on my sleeves. 

Too late, too late -- there's no remedy nor cure

to nurse my once burning, beating heart;

A stone now stands in it's solemn place,

sickened, smothered, shredded apart.

I sought words to pierce your soul,