Autumn Hue

How could the cryptic script of eons ago
Moist my eyes,
And dampen my soul,
Today?

Does the veiled hurt
Surface anew,
On days like today,
When I expect not in the least
Those aged woes?

It does, bitterly so.

The yellowed maples drape the roads
Hugging onto the winding ways
Offering a carpet.
My bleeding soul dabbles a trickle
Of crimson,
And autumn adorns a blush.

And as the chilly winds blow
The maple leaves fly all over
In an amoured frenzy.
The hurt wouldn't but appease.

With a handful of memories
That I so very much wish to push off
Into the brook,
I walk, humming an autumn melancholy.
But the brook evades me,
As it does,
Every time.
(For, I never could cross that milestone.
Knowingly, I could never wipe off the memories
That built me.)

And as always, I take that path
Away from the brook, knowing well,
I could never part with those memories.
Maimed be it, with tears-
Yet, it remains
And forever would.

The chilly winds blew on
And more maple leaves smothered me
With a wet autumn kiss.