Dreams and Autumn

The autumn turns to gold and green,
The winter stays at bay,
There’s mist upon the meadowside,
And breeze to kiss the day;
There’s music in his very soul,
His senses sharp and keen —
He sees, and knows the world seems right,
    But what does it all mean?

He heard her crying in the night,
But it was just a dream,
Or maybe a re-living of
Some long-forgotten scene;
There’s sorrow in his very soul,
A ghost in the machine —
He feels and hears her echoed call,
    But what does it all mean?

Perhaps each moment, wrong and right,
Are meant for and hope and guessing;
Perhaps we cannot know the scope
Of every curse, or blessing —
And maybe we are meant to stay
Upon the edge, the brink —
But dreams and autumn scream the truth,
    It’s just not what
    We think

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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