Intro

 The story told

Again; I wait for the words

To fit between the lines,

What if I’ve found a sign?

The cycle goes,

We go,

We float-

We flow-

I’m just recognizing the repetition of it,

Recognize the repetition.

It’s important to know,

Where the river flows

It’s important to know,

The point where we explode

And to not test the water,

Not test the water-

Not to test the water if it’s cold

The story’s told

I’m wasted; I’m worn,

Burnt out and tired-

I want to go to bed-

I can’t seem to find,

That peace of mind

I’m wasting countless minuets,

Counting seconds and hours,

Setting boundaries and limits

Cause I’m so sick and tired

Of being tired and sick

It’s important to know,

Where the river flows

It’s important to know,

The point where we explode

And to not test the water,

Not test the water-

Not to test the water if it’s cold

I step out my door, one foot in front of the other,

Over the threshold and into the cool air,

The air feels crisp,

Like I've bitten into a freshly picked apple. 

The world colored brown, orange, and red

Autumn has begun its beautifully tragic reconstruction,

I’m connected to it.

The morning is vast and empty, the bustling summer breeze has subsided,

Been replaced with cracked faces, moving in Fall wear.

Covered by scarves, covering their secrets,

The sinners of Summer

Starving for the warmth, and security. 

The people, like the fallen leaves,

Dried and crumbling from the trees,

The heat of the summer left them withered,

Scattered across the concrete,

I see them around the block,

In their sad sunken faces,

Remembering the beauty that once filled these places,

Light, drinks, laughter, and love,

They seem to be silent 

Worn;

But yearning somehow,

Still yearning

Are the birds singing songs rejoicing,

An anthem of the sky?

Packing up their belongings, like school girls of summer camp,

Waiting for the winter to pass by,

Over the threshold out of the cool air,

My doorway feels warm,

Something familiar to behold.

Fall

I step out my door, one foot in front of the other,

Over the threshold and into the cool air,

The air feels crisp,

The world colored brown, orange, and red

Autumn has begun its beautifully tragic reconstruction,

I’m connected to it.

The morning is vast and empty, the bustling summer breeze has subsided,

Been replaced with cracked faces, moving in Fall wear,

Covered by scarves, covering their secrets,

Starving for the warmth, and security of summers sun,

The people, like the fallen leaves,

Dried and crumbling from the trees, Save

The heat of the summer left them dried out.

Scattered across the concrete,

I see them around the block,

In their sad sunken faces,

Remembering the beauty that once filled these places,

Light, drinks, laughter, and love,

They seem to be silent and worn,

But yearning somehow,

Still yearning

We are the birds singing songs rejoicing,

An anthem of the sky,

Packing up their belongings, like school girls in summer camp,

Waiting for the winter to pass by,

Over the threshold out of the cool air,

My doorway feels warm

Something familiar to behold.