Dying Season

Their lives are but dust
Their thoughts are but words
Which rise out of ashes
But end up unheard

The streets are all faces
That flood with the spring
They grow with the weeds
And merge into streams

The eyes are alive
And burn in the summer
They flash with the rain
And scream with the thunder

But time changes still
And they die with the autumn
They change and then drop
Like words spoken solemn

And despite what they say
Of leaves, trees, and thanks
Autumn is a cold death
That overflows our banks

We change and we die
We burn and we lie
On grounds strewn around
On concrete without sound

They say it's beautiful
But we know better


Give me an answer
Give me a reason
Give me a hope
In this dying season