All poetry, writing, and paintings on this blog are my own unless otherwise stated, and are not to be copied without my consent, or at least give me credit.







Social justice is the only justice.







Thursday, November 25, 2010

This is not a poem.




Winter is come

The autumn wind blows me down the street
A brittle leaf, brown and crumbling
I tumble, having lost control
The wet concrete scrapes my emotions
 I look on grey skies and skeletal trees
Bony fingers try to grab and hold me
My helplessness pulls me away
I fly free along the empty road
Discarded refuse my only companion
Looking for a place to rest my mind
Looking for respite
Everything is going to sleep
Funny how it looks like everything is dying
White flakes fall upon my soul
Cold rain seeps into my marrow
Memories of sunshine and a warm summer's wind
Blown away in the chill of tomorrow
Winter is come