The Fall

The melee of colors,
The pandemonium of wind!

The hunchbacked sun
Crawls into its bed
Before the onset of the night!
And if it were not for the compassionate rain,
The fire that has caught on to the forest,
Would burn the trees
Much like my heart
That is burning in the fire of love!
Do not take away my tears from me!

My petunias could not endure the morning cold.
What a futile expectation!
I watch my petunias die,
As would a medicine man
A dying warrior in his final throes!
Powerlessness is the onset of hopelessness.

This is a season of a different sort:
A time that –
In its pre death struggle –
Disturbs the green of tranquility
With the red of fireworks!
This is how love is
In this late season!

Abyss

Snowflakes melt before landing.
Rainfalls no longer beget blossoms.
Shadows are longer.
The trail hides into the evening mist.
Friends do not wave at friends.
Hands are snugly kept in pockets.
This night has no dawn.
The farther I merge into the night,
The darker it becomes.
The dawn that I had been promised,
The dawn that was supposed to be
Will never come.

The flickering light
Momentarily in sight
Was a fragment of imagination.
Shut the door to imagination.
Do not place hope in friends.
Something tells me that
At the end of the trail
There lies a gaping abyss,
The open mouth that will devour me.
I will give myself to the abyss
Willingly and happily.
The apex had nothing to appease me.
The abyss may.
I am on my way down.
I am on my way down