October

October moon ceases to smile

A dozen roses upon your grave

Clench tight of the possibilities

Decipher which memories to save

 

Fragrance of sour lemons

Imprinted upon your lips

Who knew of the paths that were took

Lies told is desolate sips

 

Do not step to linger

A hush amongst the crowd

Do you dare to stand alone

Forewarning of the future shroud

 

The eyes gaze with a purpose

Hypocrites they do not know

But how do you separate

Truths from lies that grow

 

When hands fumbled too slowly

On the fateful day of last October

A steely blade vanished beneath your chest

And you fell into eternal slumber

 

Midnight post of eerie glow

Seashore rivets of pastime

Time ticking, too slow

Conversations moving with a rhyme

 

Cool touch of granite

Noises of blade grass and trees

Scour down to those with knowledge

Bend down at the knees

 

For October never smiles

And roses always have thorns

Dreams cease to come

Raw imprints of the usual scorns

Poetry


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