Published October 31, 2010
Dear October,
What can I say of you that has not already been said,
in words far more eloquent than mine could ever be?
I could tell of your myriad leaves,
setting the trees afire with scarlet and gold,
and falling around me in the autumn wind,
while I stand transfixed.
But haven't the poets exhausted that image,
captivating as it may be?
I could tell of your whispering wind,
carrying the leaves far from home,
and leaving me to wonder where they go;
sweeping away the memories of years without rain,
and leaving me with nothing but the cold.
But haven't the writers written of that chill before,
enthralling as it is?
I could tell of that indescribable feeling,
That piercing sadness, that rush of adrenaline,
That foreboding of change that is without and within me,
Like fire racing through my veins:
The icy touch of autumn.
But hasn't everyone felt that sensation,
Intoxicating as it is, and will always be?
Therefore, there is little I can say.
So I must stand here and wait in silence
as you pass away and are gone.
Love,
Stephanie
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141,298 Literary Works • 674,336 Reviews
I love this. It's simply amazing, a great example of a true heartbreak. The metaphors you use seem well thought-out, even if they did come naturally to mind.
Keep writing.
~Devon.
Beautiful... a haunting account of something we find so special, only to find that it is simply a decorated shell. Wonderfully decorated, but empty none the less.
Dang. I hate it when I pour my heart and soul into a poem and then it only gets one review. lol XP
hey WP! (thats your new nickname by the way) I'm going to review you today!
Dear October,
I like how this starts out,very personal
What can I say of you that has not already been said,
in words far more eloquent than mine could ever be?
I could tell of your myriad leaves,
setting the trees afire with scarlet and gold,
and falling around me in the autumn wind,
while I stand transfixed.
But haven't the poets exhausted that image,
captivating as it may be?
FABULOUS!
I could tell of your whispering wind,
carrying the leaves far from home,
and leaving me to wonder where they go;
sweeping away the memories of years without rain,
and leaving me with nothing but the cold.
But haven't the writers written of that chill before,
enthralling as it is?
as much as I like this is feels repetitive to me
I could tell of that indescribable feeling,
That piercing sadness, that rush of adrenaline,
That foreboding of change that is without and within me,
Like fire racing through my veins:
The icy touch of autumn.
But hasn't everyone felt that sensation,
Intoxicating as it is, and will always be?
Therefore, there is little I can say.
So I must stand here and wait in silence
as you pass away and are gone.
I think you need like a: Love, The Mocking Jay
this is awesome! i love how you took the time to find different meanings for the same thing! AWESOME! Keep it up!
~Pointe