I press my voice against the silence held
In the autumn wind, drifting across the lands
In search of the ear you lent me years ago
And through the rustle of the leaves, fallen from the trees hands

My voice is rising in a heated passion
To the autumn sky, cycling the cooler air until evenly rationed
Like the whispers chanted to your ears in yester years days
It remains stuck like the dieing thrones, pressing against the leaves

My voice struggles to drift above and into the seas
And to the cool open sky, to scatter the message
So far it’s entangled in the forgotten webs, dancing in the Breeze
In the autumn sky where everything is deathly or dieing,

I struggle to create anew

I enjoyed this piece, read it several times in fact. The concept you used here is interesting, I like how you worked it out. Found a great balance in your vocab: the reader understands everything and yet doesn't get the feeling that it's too basic. The strongest aspect was the imagery, I could really picture the wind, the rustle of the leaves, I could imagine the entire scene you portrayed. The emotion was strong as well, not always present on the surface but if you read it a few times, it's more obvious.

Nice drop!

DQ

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