Memories

The late summer whispers the arrival song of September 

that left the city of August. Flowers that borrowed colors 

from the Sun are fading to prepare for the fall.

Ask the wind to narrate the history of September, 

it will shed tears of doomed humankind. 

The days, ground drenched in tears and bloodied carcass.

I was born on the day September paused 

the obliquitous poem at the twelfth line

blessing a journey of life riding crests and troughs 

One fine day, maybe not so fine 

I knocked the door of poetry, 

as my ramshackle soul hold me tight 

in harrowing quilts. It embraced me, 

the poor vagrant building a safe hidden haven.

The hidden home now is vulnerable to the storms 

that are coming unheralded I need to walk out 

a bit to strengthen the wall of this poetic Elysium, 

dear to my heart

I am not gone until the prints of my poetry 

will continue to tell tales I painted 

On one one day, 

clearing the misty fog in 

voyage of hope I shall 

return to this cherished abode.