Halls of the Dark Muse

Here was my entrty for the Autumn Poetry Contest

Autumn Fire

Crisp crackling
rose-gold flames
touched in crimson red
at my finger tips
smelling of sweet earth
and decay.

They alone burn
only brighter
in the withering years
of life
catching in descendent
rays of sunlight
to shimmer upon the
touch of Northern Winds.

Beneath each step
their voices speak
fallen and refusing
to be forgotten.

In full blush
they burn with
the last rays
of sun
before the darkness
sweeps in
and snuffs
even death's
flare