Alright, new poetry. The person responsible for me writing this is Sarrah. So thank (blame) Her.

i cannot wait for fall
when
all leaves and
memoreas
fold up and die -
and in death doing
radiance and mind favors
with beauty
(fire kicked up by wind
of passing
fancies and breaths
of intertwined&combined
individyoualls)
in preparation of
bit(ter/ing) blindness
of blankness.
From that tundra of
field and soul
they showandglow
in contrast to
skeletons
of trees and hopes.

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.