isaiahwilliams
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The crimson color of the dying leaves
Remind me of when I was there: in relief.
I watch the colors float off the branches
And the clouds are perfectly fluffy.
The creator of all this fashioned a thought
Moving slightly to the left
And then slightly toward the right.
Putting all my effort on the table
And dancing away the night.
Giving all I’ve got to give
And trying not to see what’s in sight.
Heartless.
Soulless.
Memory of memories,
Dream of dreams,
Fading light into
Shattering obscurity.
Where do we come from?
Where are we bound?
Perpetuity is a shadow
Criticize me. Brother.
For we are not the same.
Keep that hatred pouring outward,
Because, you are not to blame.
You see things in black and white,
For you know not much more.
