Autumn, by Nicholas Ryan Sampson

Autumn

Autumn sneaks in

preceding dormancy

Leaves take on new beauty

with nothing left in them but a fall from grace

Individually insignificant

while masses burden

The colors give the illusion of burning out

but we really just fade away

(2012)

The pen must be  mightier than the sword  For there is nothing that  will spill your guts faster  than a bit of ink that says 

I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows

Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting

I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making

I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face

I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all

I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first

You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things

I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response

To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas

Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin

All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life

I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes

So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything

Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another