Autumn

Either Autumn came

or something’s out of order!

The maples, in crimson flames,

are begging for some water.

Smoke rises from the cement.

But there’s no lightning, no thunder!

A beagle picks up the scent

of the fleeting summer.

The sun sets, covered in ash.

The evening skyline’s darkened.

The temperatures rise and crash,

like stocks in the open market.

The lungs expand and collapse,

fragile, brittle and frail,

And centuries seem to elapse

before one can even exhale…

Before one can take it all in,

the fingers release the pencil

And sweat starts to seep through the skin,

like ink through a stencil…