Wandering Heists

Once upon a tranquil lore, whispering upon trepid serenity,
billows winds that sweep by, past the starry sky.
I speak of orange and red, and yellow melancholy,
in the blistering breeze, that seems to bring freeze.

Many a time have my eyes gone weak,
many a time have I felt so bleak--
when mountains fell, and rivers reeked,
I sought for joy; happiness I seeked.

Oh, but bittersweet—November has come once more!
The graves seem brighter than ever before,
from underneath, was a sliver, but so,
through the coffin, nothing but a silver mist—a spirit tore.

I speak of a sky painted with the colour of blood,
a time of sorrows and horrid woes,
I speak of a time filled with salty tears, of knees that trod,
of a time when graves became rigid—standing still in rows.

Once upon a tranquil lore,
concealed by scorn and mourn,
the dead have come alive seeking nothing but remorse
drowned by the endless void, throughout their inner cores.

A painful mix of tears and longing,
came from the window was a rapping, a tapping
for beyond a glistening bliss of orange, is a sliver of white,
that emerged from the empty abyss, lost in its plight.

Oh, but bittersweet November--
why must you appear?
I need not see the wandering spirits, nor do I need,
a blemish, a whisper—may they all disappear!

For mere memories they concealed, from those vessels beneath,
Buried in the soil underneath!
A fugitive, a thief—performing nothing but a heist,
those wandering souls filled with longing and lust.

Dear bittersweet November, a month of anguish you are
When you come once more,  a twitch, a shiver, a tear is shed
you gash the bleeding hearts, leaving nothing unsaid.
Dear bittersweet November—I hope you vanish forever.

The autumn breeze you bring, you cleanse the trees of leaves
you banish happiness, and sadness you bring.
Oh, but bittersweet November—you soothe the void within--
you end the hot summers, and bring peace and happiness to wanderers and thieves.

Once upon a tranquil lore, whispering upon trepid serenity,
came bittersweet November, its sky filled with lustre,
leaving behind leaves built in a cluster
Clasped between its autumn days, a void filled—and an ending filled with laughter.