The morning of fall

The very air reeks of rotting stone
in between tar and decrepit home
The heat but a memory lost and thrown
Every breath of wind a has a mind of its own

Watching the sun break the clouds
Every step pushed back by the slick ground
Fleeing the world as pinkish light surrounds
Feeling the sun warm the air and open new sounds

Swirling wind pushes every sense of mine
A war between body and frame of mind
The cold defined with the freedom on the line
Lift me up, cary me worries through time

Shattered leaves and broken branches
Coated in water all hopeless and senseless
Their beauty on the ground amongst the fences
Weighed down by rain awaiting the first fungus

Every breath tastes of the coming ice
A reminder the world hides its face
A season apart but still showing grace
Winters coming, a fearsome race

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