Autumn dreaming

Oh look at the myriad cascade of dying flowers,
Auburn and burning of fervid flames,
Trees tall and fragile in October showers
Stand by the bleak wind, in these late hours.

Rivers pass by and stones stay,
Slowly the gardens are withering,
Cool rain persists at night and plays
In the end of winter it will stray.

A fading paper on the crying roads of leaves,
A solemn tear shed on their embodied amber fabric,
A silent murmur of the sleeping creatures
While all rest upon thy dreams.

Essence divides into illusions
Marking the heart of the oaks
Coming up with gapped delusions
Crossed in the rupture of heated stoves.

A lake of grief entwined with ecstasy,
Carmine and cyan waves
Adorn the wretched waters
Of night and day, memoirs of a noble maiden

Soft as the wings of a moribund nightingale
Is the withered grass
Of which time steals its vigour
Remaining just a frail body

The music of the arrival
Still echoes in the burrows of the woods
Promising spring a glowing revival
A distant acclamation of those innocent goods

Strange luminosity flickers in the shadows
Is coming from a fire, perhaps
But how the fiery light appears
So different from the gentle flocks of doves

It had no weakness, nor strength,
It had nothing except the blazing fire
Accepting is nor good, nor evil
It is just the resemblance of perfection.