Autumn Trees

Fabricated tick tocks
beat against each fallen leaf
fading with forgotten hues.

Stellar dreams no longer effortless
thrash in vindictive tears tearing
at the knot preventing sudden death,

but where have the trusted hopes gone:
sunken into grey along with the sparks
blackening skin to keep warm.

All that’s left are the entwining
broken branches of forfeited dreams
waiting to be rooted once more.

Sailing

Men sail the seas
in search of truth or treasure;
hearts full of childhood poetry.
The sails go up
in the first excitement,
where winds blow
into the words of the wild seas.

The journey is rough:
storms crash waves into rocky boats

while leaky pens offer no warrant

until the eye of the storm

offers a moment’s peace,

but sometimes winds cease to blow

that the ship must lay

quiet and unmoving.

Some men grow daft,

some tired and abandon ship;

hopes of discovery drown
beneath the hull,
but winds always come back,

blowing in one direction or anew

to start the journey once again.

In the end
there’s always one

brave enough to continue sailing,

and finally finds

both truth and treasure

inked upon his hands.

Will Be Back Soon

Just starting fresh.