Uh, hey guys. Long time, huh. Uh... guess I didn't do so fantastically on the "every week" thing, did I? I kind of started this thing and it was too evil for me to finish because it kind of caused me to realize I would never be a poet because I've actually never really been sad because my life has been basically perfect, and then this caused my creativity to crash and burn, and I kind of gave up on everything. So that's why you got nothing all summer. Yeah.
BUT... then the other day last week the second day of fall it was the falliest day you could imagine and it felt exactly like this poem that I kind of wrote on accident and then liked too much for no one else to ever read it. So here it is.
The misty mountains are wreathed in smoke
the aerie of some fiery dragon awoke
by the smell of the earth and the feel of the air
and the streamers of moonlight caught in the trees
whose whispers at night carry soft to his lair.
He sighs, and his cold spicy breath will freeze
gilding the grass and the yellowing leaves.
He shakes his wide wings, preparing to fly,
and mysteries like leaves, scarlet and gold,
flake from his scales and fall through the sky.
So reach out and catch one, all stiff from the cold,
then look up through the bones of the bare-branched grove
and shiver to think of his shadow above.
BUT don't get too used to it because I just got a real job writing things which real people who aren't related to me might theoretically read but you will never see because they will be terrible because apparently I've lost the ability to write real sentences that have beginnings and ends and punctuation. But anyway I hope you liked the poem.
