October lies about our fate
Like the fall isn't an endless state

Like leaves aren't dying
As soon as they bud forth, chlorophyll crying

Like we all don't keep skeletons under our fragile flesh, calcium truths held hidden and dear
Every other month of the year

We need this cacophony of color
That every calendar year piles fuller

To remind us we are dying
And reassure us, by lying

That spirits are constrained to one night
That the very days are not losing their light

That the dead have need of our limitations
That we living have, to them, obligations

Not white lies, but flaming bright lies
That allow us to remember time flies

And behold, without terror, our inevitable end
While not knowing what lies around that bend

Lying, like a curled carpet of burnished gold leaf
On once green grass blade, gone to verdigris sheath

October, in occulting, lies
And everything living, dies

© inkcloud