I am a saboteur,

I sabotage my hopes;

for fortune is a fickle friend,

she smiles when you don't need her,

leaves you like a falling leaf,

a mimicking procedure.

Such measly moments of the past,

do not last:

Kicking through leaves

of a stormy-day; 

before Dawn found me

gathering windfalls in my night clothes,

tumbling into heaps, red, golden brown–

crazy colours all around,

echoing, with such silent dread,

a memory-lost, a memory-found,

storm-tossed words,

all around.

Words once thought, 

but never said:

collected regrets of a life misled.

dust-motes still float

all around my head,

gossamer threads;

glittering words, spiders' webs:

say hello to stormy autumn,

her mists and ghosts and gleams;

gossamer-threads upon her finger,

shivering all around her nose.

These swirling  leaves of stormy autumn,

blow me back to kingdom-come,

pray silence:

hear:

lost time’s beating drum.