Oblivion

Near winter
White blankets upon the land:
Icy warm, smooth and crunchy

Leaves
Dregs of satisfaction hanging like frosted breath; 

Pure and refined

'Neath entombed twigs with clear casted wigs:

Their armor

Frozen decay

None proceeding 'till damp melted spring
Rotted amour
Stems splendent growth
Scented blossoming death from death 

Change and life, only to fade and die
The wheel turns

So much distraction for meaning
Fooled and helpless folk eking out
Stupid fawns amazed and gleeful;
Climbing higher, the tendril beanstalks running for the sun

Brown and dead by summer's end,
When baited brewing transforms:
Wine. . .

Come, come awaited oblivion

–by Julie O./ Ember Elektra

November 30, 2014