Alone, a sole figure
lingering in the blackness. Endlessly journeying
nowhere. Followed into the night,
a gust; a whistle building to a howl.
There is a rustling from deep within,
down in the undergrowth. Fingernails
clawing at the dirt trying to pull their way out.
Boys don’t cry
because crying shows weakness.
because boys are supposed to have no weakness.
because crying is for pussies.
because crying makes you less of a man.
Boys can’t cry.
They’re not supposed to be sensitive.
As the long summer draws to a close,
the tired sun lies low in the sky
adorning the clouds with hues of orange and rose.
Autumn brings with it a gentle mist; breathed out like a sigh.
A cold sheet floating over the hills.
Wisps weave silvery white between dense treetops,
It’s dull black sheen is somewhat enticing:
I know what is yet to come.
From the first touch of the tongue
it’s hardened exterior begins to melt
and at once the sickly and intense aroma seeps out,
enveloping the taste-buds,
intensifying with every slight twist of the tongue.