Autumn Sorrow
The truth held in the ever changing leaves,
Yet gathered in a bundle of colorless eaves.
Seen beyond what misconception of lies,
Broken by the silence of such thieves.
Swirling in a vortex of misleading retention,
As if forgotten in such a dreary dimension.
For whom is to say what can be seen with our eyes,
Such lives carry on in forgotten ascension.
Henceforth the flight of such object construe,
And fixed in a place once sought untrue.
Life is as shattered when uncovered the guise,
Found is fit for sorrow for what you imbue.
To wise is your symbol for grief,
For your sadness is never to brief.
The world cannot hear your cries,
As lonely as an Autumn day leaf.
Yet gathered in a bundle of colorless eaves.
Seen beyond what misconception of lies,
Broken by the silence of such thieves.
Swirling in a vortex of misleading retention,
As if forgotten in such a dreary dimension.
For whom is to say what can be seen with our eyes,
Such lives carry on in forgotten ascension.
Henceforth the flight of such object construe,
And fixed in a place once sought untrue.
Life is as shattered when uncovered the guise,
Found is fit for sorrow for what you imbue.
To wise is your symbol for grief,
For your sadness is never to brief.
The world cannot hear your cries,
As lonely as an Autumn day leaf.
