The Thrills of Finding and the Shrills of Loss

By nm   

The crimson of fall
Flares on the roofs of dry wooden pieces
Couldn't cease to still wonder or appal
The death in the scarlet robes it wears breezes
Past the twisted hands of incarnate that still reach tall
Wheezes, heard through the marooning slit in our princes throat
The crunching of leaves warranted the existence of another
In this lonely purgatory, which only had space for one, not all
The twists in his fingers relaxed and unveiled a face, smothered but eased
Her featured were galled, her segments were at peace
Skillfully brawled against her toxic eyes, a stream of pain cut right through it
Suddenly, the grotesque of my world relaxed
A little less lonely, a little more vexed
But the blood was diluted
My prayers answered
Until her drowning head took breath  
Her smile stole mine
Darkness crowned.
Oblivion again.
The crimson of fall.

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