Through the breeze A slight scent of mint The Sumer didn’t even make a dent In the column of cosmic debris Hollow leaves with colors that bleed In Autumn the colors turn red To awake the barren lake Columns of petrified fragmentation awaits
There is a reason for are being Red, yellow & grey Will set your course for a happy day Nature beckons us to draw near I shed a tear to numb the inner pain From a Summer sunset to a new day dawn Some even curse the day they were actually born It will take you higher then ever before Lest I implore another open door
Life is made up with moments like these Through the hollow leaves We made are stake in claim in the game of life Amidst the trials & strife With humble hearts we choose to explore Onto so much more lest I implore
Mario William Vitale is a poet with over 1,000 toward his platform. Vitale was born October 23rd, 1970 in Bristol, Ct. Currently living in Wolcott, Ct where he helps as a care taker for his elderly handicapped mother Ann. Vitale is featured as a writer on Poetrysoup, Writerscafe & Allpoetry. Has a fan base on facebook with over 650 followers. He started writing poems in 1989 after the break up of his first girlfriend as a way to cope with life.
Leaves on the trees turning from yellow to brown With a stiff wind soon on the ground Rustling, rustling A pile of leaves so neatly collected Beckoning me so they’re not neglected Rustling, rustling I jump I jump so gleefully
Under lip’s shadow dislocated in faint moonlight we discussed the maligned communications between fuming monologues of desiccsatd life. Sorcery was not able to knife the secrets of the park, branches and trees of memory. The game continues in jungle of
Feeling buried like it’s over Amidst suffering and total anger Igniting hell to burn my heart inside Leaving scars unable to hide Under this skin there came a blast Reaching head, clashing toes with brunt Emptied glass once full with
We wander in this desperate land. With hopes of anticipation. You hold my hand, I hold yours. Like woven threads in wool. We are fragile leaves in an autumn tree. Ready to fall in this timeless abyss. Nature gives us