the lethal autumn breeze
blows like a terrorist
upon the shriveled leaves
blown upon the infernal grass
how tragically wasted
like the dull minds at mass
the tree timidly grows
upon hollow soil
and all its pathetic woes
the leaves, raked away
burned or disposed
lest, the others shall see the next day
i fetch my rake, i bear my axe
i shake the leaves, i cut the tree
let it fall within the cracks
never more shall I leetch the tree
oh dear God,
never more shall I worship thee
your descriptions of tree is clear and the hidden messages in it was to acknowledge your writing as a whole. keep going pal.
Very good imagery here, particularly in the first two verses.You need to edit more as to choice of words. Be judicious. Suggest 'grasp my axe' and 'ponder thee'. Last line needs re-write somehow, it's anti-climactic and without real meaning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
“How tragically wasted like the dull minds that mass” I think these are very fine words and I bet they’ll come popping into my mind every now and than when I see a crowd of such-and-such. Of course the thought has been expressed before, but never enough. And I like the way you did it besides.