And, I wonder,
are the colder months colluding?
Would warring Winter, pause?
Could audacious Autumn, wait?
Or, does the vexed, brooding
and unruly thunder
shape the sordid
cause
of the lightning,
hale, snow and rain?
Why does the gourmand, wolfy-pack,
have to, spit,
growl, and, attack,
the Spring, and, the Summer?
Do they resent;
the clement, balmy days.
Or, just, yearn to take their place?
Mankind has reached it’s own;
November,
suffering unscrupulous mists; a fog of charging cheats,
compassion is a disillusioned ember, smothered and crushed
below;
fraught
autumnal
feet.
A stampeding fall persists,
clenched in the dying undergrowth,
of doomed and dark deceit.
So, do the colder months collude?
That remains, forever, to be
seen.
But, the human race to season, enroot, ended in; self-defeat.
Fallen;
from favour;
from grace;
gone
trees.
A final, lonely leaf of fortitude;
fell, and, lost, beyond the evergreen.

