In The Fall

Grass is apathetic like the audience
watching flowers atrophy like freedom.
Grasses' splendor is gone too.

Flowers fall from branches
onto stone, into pieces
like stars up in Heaven,
like hailstones, like Satan,
like mountains on us,
like forests after axes
and snow is falling faster
in an open field.

There they lie in my
troubled nights dreaming
with the rest in deep sleep.

They are crushed. I am shaken.
There is no counsel in my nation.
As soon as it is noticed, it is taken
like butterflies caught in a net.

Beauty is lost forever.
Shadows vanish with the wind.
Where are the hands of God
to catch them as they fall?

By James Dye

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• Poem
• Apathy
• Freedom
• Flowers
• Heaven
• God
• Satan
• Dreams
• Beauty
• Shadow
• Falling