Poets : FadingGenes / Mozdrums

Theme :  Autumn Leaves

Sepia Seepage

Footfalls in frost - precise punctures in prickly pelt of lone pine cones

Worn and tattered as my baseball glove - ash hill patterned paths we tread

While the fire's dance burned above - singing forgotten odes to the dead

Autumn's cool air held a crisp scent - slow-stacking obstacles the boughs lent

Their temporal tidings fleeting impediment - challenging our stride's natural agreement

Extended exhaustion, we gave all we could - grew up too fast for our own good

Though young, respect was bound to our ground - raising ourselves; no one around

Leeching the fallen - their weary warmth drains into our collective blind spot

We lead ourselves off the beaten path - a selective kind of serenity we sought