Leaves fall in my wake
torn and broken
by the rough autumn wind.
The grass once green now yellow;
a tarnished memory
of the sweet summer sun.
Crushed into paint
for pictures anew
of clouds dancing to silent music,
and people drinking the sky.
With a young voice I strain to hear
the sounds of an old world;
a whisper,
the water,
a breeze.
The days of the past now seem
so warm
compared to the months
of winter ahead;
lit with blankets of mirror flakes
and the wings of fallen angels.
By the way,
I like some of the ways you described Autumn and Winter.
I could really picture it in my head.
Good Job!
But remember, you have to get a real story down
or make sure that it's all connected.
If you just put a bunch of random lines together,
then it doesn't sound smooth or, well, good.
Hi! BookLover33 here!
Although you did have a few good lines,
the poem fell short of what I was expecting.
if you work on it, (when you're fully awake,)
then it could turn into a great piece of poetry.
Good luck and keep writing! 
I love a lot in this poem, and I think a lot in this poem falls flat. The highest concentration of awesome is here:
a tarnished memory
of the sweet summer sun.
Crushed into paint
of clouds dancing to silent music,
and people drinking the sky.
With a young voice I strain to hear
Yes hello there.....
The poem was very good and all but it is named Breathe and the poem seems mostly about seasons. You had great word choice and very vivid descriptions of each season. So the most I can say is to rename this and you will be good!
This is pretty. I'm not quite sure what it's about, but it's very pretty.
Hullooo, guineapiggirl going to give you a revieeeeeeeeeew!
I really like your opening and the way the poem has this theme of autumn turning to winter and looking back on summer and stuff. You've got some really lovely description and imagery and stuff. I can really see what you're describing, if I concentrate really hard.
There are bits that if you're not reading it kind of with your whole mind you can't get, like:
lit with blankets of mirror flakes
and the wings of fallen angels.
this couplet's about snow, right?
and
Crushed into paint
for pictures anew
of clouds dancing to silent music,
and people drinking the sky.
In fact, I still don't get that bit.
I think this poem is a little bit difficult to follow. I don't really get what the title has to do with the whole changing seasons thing. Are you saying to sort of stop and breathe and look around at the world that's changing around you?
Or is there something I'm missing?
I'm not quite sure.
My favourite bit is:
Leaves fall in my wake
torn and broken
by the rough autumn wind.
The grass once green now yellow;
a tarnished memory
of the sweet summer sun.
That bit's really good. It's really pretty and lovely description and I understand everything you're saying.
One little correction:
the sounds of and old world
I think you mean the sounds of an old world?
I hope I've helped a little bit with what i've said. I think this poem is really pretty. I like how you describe snowflakes (I think) as the wigns of fallen angels at the end. I think that ends on a really nice, slightly different note. And it sort of captures the... slightly wistful? feel of the poem.
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