Almost violent how color cuts across the mountainside

With an apathetic cackle

Catastrophe of crimson bleeds, drips, falls

No, the leaves are only red

They do not care to conform, only

tasked with beauty

Blooming, heaving, looming, heavy on

my eyes

Alike a leaf I lift and leave

Branching out, barren, I bear the

burden

Nature will not comfort me

(naturally) 

If only grief was seasonal as winter

Dead leaves rattle, fragile underfoot

Skittering across the worn wanderings of my mind

Death lasts a moment, but

I stain the sky blue remembering

the expanse envelops the passing of time

But oh to think who thought of the hue

Constructing a tincture connecting an ache

And painting it onto a physical place

the whispers of Lover,

the faintest of flutters stir

the air

Beyond the drooping leaf

Behind chaos of clamorous charm

extends the mark of a Maker

Reaching, holding, breathing Steady arms