dark days and light years

The autumn comes with such haste
not like the slow crawl from winter to spring;
autumn comes like the sunset in the mountains.
One is sure there are still golden rays flowing
in the valley below, but the chills
have seized the hills; fallen into dark days.

Thus the calendar seems to be a liar
unfair in its desire to fold my sunny days of play away.
i think it wrong, like the night time storm that quiets bird songs;
could it not find a better time...

When the world is here to please me, and i accept
nothing less, I imagine my powerful self esteem
offended; I pound afoot that seismically resounds
from here to the Eagle nebula or some such
creature of eternal tides so vast we measure them
in ages of wished for life...light years.

I could stop here, having said what was needed to expose
the charlatan chronicler of the calendar days,
but there is chicanery within the dishonesty.
Autumn with its sudden snow and bitter squalls
is still far milder than winter, and confounds my frown.
Though I wince in the morning frost, it is
like all of the blessed life we truly see,

from the turn of the world over the ocean,
the arc of her pouted lower lip,
the curl of the flaring wave ashore,
and the sway of her perfect hips,
it is all... exquisitely beautiful.