In the fall,
when winter winds entice
us into thinking we’re
approaching some eternal end,
we stand amongst the coldness
and project our future view:
Where is it that we’re going to?
And how,
amongst these padded lives
are we to know what we should do?
We start to feel the coldness
as it nestles up around our chins.
And out beneath the empty sky,
beneath the empty,
aching limbs of living things
that have gone dry,
the coldness creeps beneath our skins
where all our hidden passions lie.
And we, in silent rectitude
of warmer days that once have been,
retire deep within ourselves;
a shelter,
cast by dreamless men,
designed to drown
our sense of sin.
Click below to listen:
Semi-Thoughtful Musings 