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Wither



The leaves danced like butterflies in the blowing wind

Streaming across the sky in auburn glory

Fluttering towards the heavens like an inferno

A procession toward the æther, orchestral and rhythmic

Like roaring breath from cheering skies

As sunlight gleams through the billowing clouds

It kisses the parade with bursts of orange

And the sky flushes red

But chilling currents roll in from the north

And crosswinds bear defiantly onto the soaring leaves

Thrusting them down towards the earth below

For now the gusts have stilled

And the trees are frozen and bare

Soon to be entombed in snow

Shuddering and weightless, the leaves lay dead

With silence upon us, coated in alabaster rain

Never to touch the heavens, again


--Christopher S. Namor


 

Follow Christopher's Twitter: @csn_poetry

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