My Autumn's Ashes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Leaves fall in autumn like human tears, but life awaits for ashes instead. The final part of His Season's Poetry.

Submitted: January 15, 2018

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Submitted: January 15, 2018

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My Autumn's Ashes -


On autumn's first day the earth fell dead, like a bright Shakespearean red.
Trees stopped breathing due to the cancer of summer and are left boneless.
Their leaves falling like youthful skin that will leave the face of an old man.
Bare trees mirage a human body, skeleton without any skin.
Flowers stopped being the transportation for butterflies and striped bees.
Their petals falling like youthful makeup to leave women in old age.
Bare flowers mirage a human body, middle finger to all life.
Beautiful pieces of life falling, the ashes of autumn stalling.

The seasons have been nature inside me, now ashes in autumn's tree.
Nothing can help us now so I lock the doors to keep screams between love.
I will not cut myself a safe suicide because blood is not ash.
The first day of autumn leaves no summer in my heart for lighter days.
I look at her nameless face and my heart is smoking away her name.
The building containing her humanity, makes her breath contain smoke.
She is struggling to breathe from her body's smoke, I can't put out the fire.
Spiders inside puncturing her airbags, her lungs breathing two white flags.

Like ash my tears fall crying, because in my autumn arms she's dying.
Secondary spontaneous pneumothorax by pre-existing.
Her life is punctured lungs caused by the air that gave cancer to two domes.
Her lungs are her pyramids, where the breathing of sand replaced by plagues.
No fruit grows on my tree so I cannot give my pink peach apple tears.
I sit like her gravestone while she lies like the coffin ready for earth.
I'm the cold fire burning, her dying life the burnt logs to keep me warm.
Whispers in my ear to help her die, I'll go with her before I cry.

I tie her with rope, us and suicide have become our only hope.
Sitting in a chair with a gag in her mouth a human surrender.
The white gag in her mouth is a white flag placed on the moon of her face.
She is a balloon breathing, caught by cancer the air of death awaits.
I pour petrol all over us, fuelling our journey to drive Death's road.
The smell of petrol is a scent more devastating than a dead rose.
I light the flame and our bodies become a romantic cremation.
I see the fire burn her eye lashes, becoming My Autumn's Ashes.

My Autumn's Ashes © 2018 by Dexter Angelus Draven. All rights reserved. 


© Copyright 2018 LeParadisNoirPoetique. All rights reserved.

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