|one of my very few colored pencil works :3|
OctoberHe sits up high, where it’s quiet but aliveOctober by ~Miracle2
idly picking the helicopter-seeds
and watching them fall
into purple-veined, gold-crimson pages
Summer left a paradise,
but someone lit it all on fire
and it’s beautiful.
Faraway, there’s a yellow paved road
but parched wood shifts beneath his feet
and the branches lay laden with blackbirds.
When the wind blows, it feels like the sea; picking up the leaves to dance
they must be so bright because they know they’re out of time
one by one they spiral away.
Light liquefies with the feathers on his breath
while green fingers caress the bright abyss of sky
Sometimes he wishes he could fall in there
burn red with the edges of the willow and oak
and bury himself in a deep-cloud hide
(it’s twenty stories to the ground, but much farther to the stars)
So come the wind, carry his dry twig-bones away
Raise the ship’s sails out of this foggy maze
and fall, like the helicopter seeds
the last leaf from