Treasure Island

Erik Rittenberry


Autumn


It was starting to change.
I walked nonchalantly
down the park sidewalk
under the tired oaks
in the late afternoon.
Dead leaves scurried past me
as the wind pressed my back.
The night,
with its jealous moon,
has begun to push away the sun
sooner in the day.
And the cool breeze
reminds me of what was…
what no longer is.
The summer is dead
along with its many sins
its vices
its crimes.
The abhorrent heat,
which has ripened
the vilest perversions of life,
has gone away.
The sun,
with its merciless vigor,
will no longer burn,
will no longer deaden the
the vitality under my skin, and
finally, will no longer set fire
to the ones I love.
It’s the dawn of Autumn,
the leaves have begun
their colorful turn.
Smokey chimneys fill the
gloomy nights,
and the jacket clad people
cover up their summer stains.
This all reminds me
of what is no more,
and I’m now immune.

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014
Edited: Thursday, February 20, 2014

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