lord, november comes again.
i never move, never make
a sound, yet it finds me,
as if it yearns for the silence.
wind plays with empty branches,
and crickets stop their songs,
and I unravel softly like a
caught sweater.
××××××××××
lord, november comes again
putting my barren mind into
sad light.
a false fire in the trees,
a falling fight from the leaves.
the birds have flown to better
places, and I was left behind to
rot with it all, to feel, feel, feel.
××××××××××
lord, novembers here
and the season takes me
gently in its claws.
scoops me up by the scruff,
like a mother does her
kitten.
she tucks me under the
covers of darkness,
and the sun becomes a fairytale.
×××××××
lord, november is your cruelest creation,
painted beautifully
in orange and brown shades.
it seeps into me like blood into carpet,
and I'm forever stained
with dying summer.
next year, I won't let it in.
July will be infinite, held up in
my hands like a child, a trophy,
a flare.
lord, I can't let november
come again.
-V
YOU ARE READING
who i am and why i'm not (poetry)
PoetryI'll love you for history, through your death, through mine.
