Maple Lives

Not about Canada

It was beautiful, the way he died.
They said it was like sleeping.
All his loved ones gathered 'round, and cried,
Like winter willows weeping.
Their little tear leaves fell gently down,
blessing the trunk that bore them.
Those seedlings scatter across the ground,
          Like Onan's wasted semen.
Green leaves can be pleasing to the eye,
But amber hues are more splendid.
That's how artists try to justify,
Why spring and summer ended.
With colorful splendor do they paint,
Rife changings of the seasons.
So we perceive death's beautiful taint,
as giving our lives reason. 

Reviews

[Tayler Riouff]

This is good. You had a lot of gentle sounds in this poem which did well to illustrate his quiet death. You also had really crisp imagery.

[Epipsychologist]

Thanks Tayler,
I wanted to try to write about fall/death in a pretty way that belies what it actually is.