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Tue11212017

Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Wednesday, 19 October 2011 18:37

With All Fine Corpses

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Autumn has come,
With all fine corpses masquerading in the folds,
Of her steady winds as they ride cool,
Through the night.

At her building breath,
The trees shedding their fading endowment,
Of a Season past.
She is present now,
In all her fired splendor,
In all her rain soaked ash,
Her dance a whirling dervish of delight,
Upon the Harvest,
Her song a children’s chant,
On the Eve,
of All Saints,
Her light a dim glowed candle
    in the center of the lantern,
Her perfume then, mulled, spiced cider,
Sweet cinnamon,
Her tea a little Sassafras with black silt mud,
To keep away the wicked
    for a while.
The house rattles, shutters shake,

 

A kitchen cabinet creaks open,
Swings free on a gust swept in,
Through the window,
Settle now,
Settle down,
Settle in.

In the shrinking distance,
Hear Winter,
Howling at the Moon,
on her way…

 

Over hill,
Through the shadows,
Galloping,
Even paced over the well trod path
Of every wooded thicket,
Her icy fingers grasp tight the reigns,
Her blood a river of veins,
Frozen blue,
In her skin the white of snow,
Then her flowing cloak the artic wind,
Her eyes disguise the Northern Lights,
Behind her midnight scalloped veil of dreams,
Asleep in her depths,
The transformation of the landscape,
The death of Autumn,
Riding on her heels.




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Kathryn Soverane

Novelista. 

Moon, spells WRITER.

Poetry, prose, the macabre of suburbia, noir, dark fiction, stream of consciousness, romance and horror,  good writing is the thing.

 

Kathryn currently resides in California.

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