(no subject)

[xibanezx]

Hello. It's been awhile. There is truly to much to cover, so I'll just cut to the point. Here's a poem I wrote today. It's still a work in progress, but this seems like a good enough first draft. Criticism welcome.

You tiptoe lightly over brittle leaves,
They remind you of how fragile we can be
When not connected firmly to our tree.

The elms now stand like vertical deceased,
Shivering in a frozen corpse-like peace.
You shiver and tug the zipper on your fleece.

Winter rings the doorbell of November,
Who hides but knows in time he must surrender.
While everything is dying, you remember

A time of pastel pinks, yellows, and greens.
If growth precedes decay, what does it mean?
Just birth and death with living in between?

Thinkers think and preachers preach their answers,
Which multiply and thrive like concealed cancers.
They spin and twist and daze like grotesque dancers.

Those paper walls may hide the torrid truth,
Their colors can divert, confuse, and soothe.
The pleasant words are havens for our youth.

You look toward the heavens - a cloudy sky.
It would appear gray to the unlearned eye.
The overcast hides the true blue hues behind.

You poke holes in the clouds with the eye of your mind
And start thinking; maybe, every human is blind,
We just clutch onto whatever savior we find.