Old and worn is our plumage <br />None too bright and none too fresh <br />We have traveled great distances <br />Standing like snakes in a daze <br />Our inner light is dimming <br />Held up only by will <br />We could collapse anytime <br />Summer turns to fall <br />And day to night <br />The witch's moon hangs low <br />A distant smell <br />Of burning wood and dying leaves <br />Creates a tear <br />An opening <br />Where fingers protrude <br />Gripping and ripping to get out <br />We are born <br />Fresh plumage <br />A light in our eyes <br />And the sun in the sky <br />As we sit under the hues of fall <br />Turning thoughts into colors.<br /><br />C.R. Blazo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/balsam/
