autumn - hills - polaroids - ghosts.A Poem by burning paper planesthis is what happens in RE lessons. yeah :| a halloween piece maybe?
once more the leaves are falling, drifting, maybe just escaping. there is a mist clawing its way across the soft earth, swirling around the grand pillars of trees. we grab handfuls of mulch and throw them like snowballs, kick at what's left with the remains of anger and upset. a low murmur in the background might be the birds, might be the wind, might be those that would laugh at us ~ we steer clear of picking out voices and words. an hour wasted, an hour newly gained to do nothing but wander(wonder) and be soaked from the inside out, starting at your bones. they float in and out of view, of the mist, of existence. as children play and love what they live, so do these new effigies, clear as smoke dissolving into the autumn air: my favourite air, my favourite leaves, my favourite beings. they cant harm us, the wont. they think and feel like angels, dead decaying angels.
buddha's sit on top of your fireplace , leaves were stapled to the walls, reminders of past autumns, past years lost, past halloweens, joy and mist, mist and mulch snowballs and visions of ghosts.
© 2010 burning paper planesAuthor's Note
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Added on October 15, 2010 Last Updated on December 29, 2010 Authorburning paper planesPreston, Lancs, United KingdomAbouti've been told my words are beautiful i've been told that they make people cry therefore id like you to read something and give a second to tell me why thankyou more.. |

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