Autumn Sighs

I wander if Autumn ever gets scared,

Knowing it will soon

Loose it’s splendor

In submission to the changing

Breathe of Winter,

Or if it welcomes it with open arms,

In surrender of the change,

Knowing that it’s time has passed

And that it must move on,

Delivering itself to the desolate

Wonder that lies ahead.

Or if it sighs not wanting to give in

To the beauty that it knows is waiting,

Because it would mean losing

Something first.

-t.r.p.

Photo Credit: isiltasuna Flickr via Compfight cc

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People Are Poetry

I want to be poetic,

Not in the sense that I want to

Write poetry.

I want to sit by a fog filled window,

With a cup of coffee,

Staring out into the rainy afternoon

Or the morning sunrise.

Not moving nor doing anything

Of consequence,

Just existing,

Breathing quietly as if I did so any

Louder I would wake the world

From its eternal slumber.

My lips,

sipping the hot liquid wrapped

Around my finger tips,

Watching the world as if it almost

Refuses to exist,

As if I am not my own,

As if I am looking at me from

The outside in,

Like a little piece of poetry.

-t.r.p.

Image

Simplicity Is Often Loudest.