A Harvest In September
A Harvest In September For what is worth, the ever gracing eyes go dark. It is as if the spirit goes back to hallow tomb every night. Forging ahead by eradicating the past and leaves nothing but dust. It is harvest time in September yet I read a letter from October. A grotesque ink, it is for thy and it still haunts me. It is harvest time in September yet my heart is from June That of the sun we had a spat for sun had cried. It is harvest time in September yet grandfather clock is amiss. Harvesting the sun for its warmth is a sin and drenching me in blood for loving is another. Crawling on all of our backs, the past, Devour it and surrender to yours truly. It is harvest time in September when my hands meet not to pray but to surrender. Like a walk at the park where couples of sun and moon meet We, too, could run, now we walk, where do we stop? It is harvest time in September Where quills die and my hands stare. Two things are to die nowadays: One is the body, the ot...