Autumn

When the amber hues Turn to cinder-block blues And the songbirds exist In the recesses of our world We lose something special When the golden hour is up Our clock has struck 12 and Our aspirations raining ashes In the fallen snow Our reality is ever-changing Floating on clouds high above the winter mix When we look down upon ourselves With contempt trailing beneath us Something sprouts from the ash Amidst the falling lies I sit and imagine the amber glow Autumn comes with retribution When the snow is blurry shades of grey