Seasonal

I was breathing deeply.
I was gazing at golden leaf piles.
I was spooning warm stew.
I was creating a masterpiece
of September muses
and then,
as quick as the chill in the air after equinox annexation,
I was drowning.

I felt the burden of breathing
grow heavier
than my will to exist.
My shoulders lurched
in a battle
for balance
but their frantic efforts were all for naught.

There is nothing to be done
but wait.

Throat,
lips,
nose,
and temples
throbbing from the
toxic secretions that streamed
from my scorched eyes
as I wailed
and no one heard me.

Does any of it matter
if no one is there to see?

The energy eroded from my body
exuded into this
emptying
of excruciating emotion.
What is the meaning?
Why does it happen to me?
What
and why
am I grieving?

Whatever and why-ever,
it has stolen the reigns
of my peace of mind.

I searched for
the seed
that must have been sowed
in my stormy soul
so I could heal it,
but instead I found
thousands and thousands
of zombified roots
crawling to the surface,
trickling around my life,
overwhelming my being
and strangling my lungs
as I gasped through the pain
of my poisonous teardrop tsunami.

The next moment
I am lighting a cinnamon candle.
I am buried in a blanket.
I am cuddling close to my lover
conversing about pumpkins
and black cats,
and Halloween costumes,
and blossoming, brilliant color-scapes

amber
to scarlet
to rust brown crinkles beneath our soles

and I look him right in the eyes and admit,
“There is nothing more beautiful on this Earth
than Autumn.”

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