By Winston Le
In October Daze,
Death sits at the edge of my bedside.
The touch of his bare bones makes my haggard body
seep out sweltering sweat, it slides and drips;
beads of water falling on the floor and then shattering.
On this day, oak leaves fade into a brown decay,
but from these changing leaves of icterine and vermillion,
I recall a brisk breeze breathing across meditative meadows
on summer days, which dream away October daze.
Waking up amidst the sun ablaze above a sea-green greenery
and the orange hue of the horizon rising over emerald hills.
Further out, the sea’s swerves and curves sung like a siren’s song,
and in dusk, aubergine fires lingered among the clouds,
until all that was left were shades of cobalt and obsidian.
After sunken sunset, I stood at the edge of dark,
listening to the clicks of crickets and watching
the luminous lanterns of fireflies radiate.
Daylight is light; leaves are flaked and cracked.
I wished fall were far away, yet with
wisps of winter’s wistful wind,
these shrivelled, wrinkled, and withered
leaves will fall in fall and then
crumple and crumble.
Filed Under: Creative Writing
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