Some say that in the winter, when the shadows are long and the bare branches of the trees reach out with long, crooked fingers, that that is when the dead come out.
And sometimes... sometimes those who wander alone don't ever come back.
What is a poem?
Well, a poem is a song.
A lullaby, and the lyrics are your dreams.
A poem is the river rushing, carrying thoughts and words.
A never ending sky, and the caw of a lonely bird.
Autumn is a woman with a top hat and golden eyes atop a horse as dark as night.
Autumn is the auburn hills glowing in the light of the harvest moon.
Autumn is the pumpkins and the squash and the nostalgia.
Before the storm,
I see the darkness,
an ominous silhouette on the horizon.
I feel the wind, making the trees sway from side to side,
a gusty swoop of exhilaration.
An obsidian stallion gallops over hills of jade,
crying sapphire tears.
A lunar eclipse in a lavender sky
Enchanted forest with wisps of mist
drifting inside a solarium
Sparks ignite a flame that creates stars,
To the ones that came before me,
ancestry, a family tree,
from you to my father, to my mother.
A lifetime of memories
makes a choir.
Though you may have the solo,
there is also a duet,