Future's Leaving

Every day the future is leaving,
counting the memories to come,
in the dread of nightlife is death,
dawning in tomorrows breast.

Before, a stairway existed in youth,
the forward motion not so fast as is now;
the greying well set in and life speeded up,
No tomorrow can comfort this past.

The sky is boiling above,
and the storm of leaves,
lost to life scatters in panic,
pronounced by winter as dead.

Yet in the warm-weary autumn,
there was the grasp for comfort,
by the trees and grasses need for rebirth,
better the dream of death now flowers are gone.

To the north, the south, the wind reaps flowers,
faded and gone to the ground in decay,
and the frosty morning encases in cold,
the feelings of nights lost to regret,
over villages, towns, cities, all.

(c) N.C. Fortune. September 2013 - February 2014.