The weather has begun its turn,
As once green leaves begin to burn,
Into an Autumn fantasy of flames,
Whispering long-forgotten names,
Walking in the rain, on bare feet,
Dancing to a tin roof beat,
Moonlight on a private stage,
Romance laced dreams and so much rage.
Rose petal wines, subtle stares,
Knights riding high on devil’s dares,
A princess in the tower cries,
Only to the wind’s own lonely sighs.
What does the dungeon prisoner hear?
As he lies wrapped within his fear?
While the king rambles on in forgotten tongues,
Stealing air from other lungs.
In a ramshackle castle, my true love waits,
While lightning converses with the fates,
All twisted Autumn’s Crossing, in the night,
As Summers do fade, in tired fight.
From Red Line Wine
photo: Hunter’s Moon, October 2018