November rain glues
like ashes in autumn sky,
We huddle tight as cows near the stove,
Yet refuse to know why,
Told stories wake up, chirping, like a dove.
The green river sits,
Admiring the ambitious willow trees next,
We envy eagles easy in their power,
Slicing the space without worrying about context.
“Don’t let your milk go sour!”
Words spell out, echoing,
The moon escapes a notch,
Ready to bounce back, any time soon;
Emptiness fills the room, cache,
Life, like the willow, a distant moon!
There are two lyrics
One hangs in space,
Obligated by the sun
And the sound of ocean waves,
Obscured under the shades of green cliffs;
The other one is abstract,
Kept alive by spirits
And the bubbles of your dreams,
Deflected from the reality
of conflicts and grieves.
Thoughts linger in minds,
Fish swim in waters,
Pumpkins ripen on vines,
and the direction of the wind matters
Because it defines your beliefs.
The images of the Fall season mark a future
That spans the gap between the unknown
And the known.
It is late August,
Don’t dwell in the bathtub for too long,
Listen to your favorite summer song
Before it is completely gone!
Happy Creative Writing!