muse.html

Muse

Here is autumn!
It is cold
but the colors are warm
my thoughts are falling, failing
like leaves tracing the air
Oh, phantom of the mind
Oh muse, why have you become so real to me?
Whatever made me
think that I
ever had a chance
The answer is all too clear
Not even time can change
the seasoned cycle
I disappear into the night
to wait
without a whisper


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