When the leaves shrivel,
flowers faint and die.
Harvest must be gathered,
signs that winter is nigh.

"Why's the land fallow?"
We'd ask of the Earth.
She shifts on her axis,
sways her great girth.
      
  There used to be stories,
about the changes you see.
They blamed it on Hades,
when he tricked Persephone.

She had taken six arils,
of which she did eat.
Hades grinned gladly,
upon his great seat.

They said she's doomed,
for six months a year.
To serve below ground,
Earth's kind left in fear.

Chimera existed!
People would believe.
The fantastic in real life,
has taken its leave.

Now we have science,
and it's true what it's told.
But we've lost all the magic,
in the world we behold.

Content while I sit here,
on a cool Autumn night.
We have kept it alive,
in the things that we write.

Despair,
complete despair,
that dull melancholy;
a constant elderitch sensation
that you're being watched from behind.
You feel those bloodshot eyes on your back
as they dig in,
bore into your spine
and disperse pure,
cold hopelessness
into the entirety of your body
through your central nervous system,
having a numbing effect
on everything you've experienced.

Every happy memory
shining a little less bright,
memories that used to bring
a warm euphoria
you once knew the name of love  
now brings a wicked strike of agony,
a burning anger,
that rapes your inner peace
and everything
needs to restart
all the work
you've put into forgetting
has to be redone
and than the period
of convalescence begins a new
and you plead to  yourself,
"please let this be the last cycle.''

  *The river side can only take so many waves before it erodes into the current.

The morning had a dampness that penetrated
what, at the time
seemed to be everything in the realm,
a dampness of renewal,
a catalyst to decomposition.

I stared out from the sidewalk at nothing in particular.
My gaze brought in everything
from ruffing leaves in the forest across the street,
to the acute shake
and gyration
from the hummus below.

The damp old leaves of ancient years long past,
shifting with the various decayed wood
of fallen trees,
both shifting and merging,
embracing and destroying;
each becoming the other,
each creating something new.

They say spring is a time for birth
and new life in this world of light yet,
they neglect the fact
that new life cannot be created
without the end of an old life.
This new life is really rebirth, renewal;
a completion of the cycle.