fall tales

fall: flames and sparkles, caramel, gold and honey,
nights made of velvet, darkness that's drunk and funny.
run away and forget all the troubles and wars and nightmares,
only fire and songs and indigo skies like blankets.

and the road will be lit for the reckless, the young, the blissful.
wind is tingly and shy, stars are dancing like prikly crystals,
every step hides the glowing of Troy, battle cries and glamor.
streets are smelling of cinnamon, rain, dreams are sweet and amber,
they will tell you about ghosts and kings and castles.

though the world feels dizzy, there's solace in evening hustles,
in the ragged cascade of cinnabar, ocher, saffron,
overwhelming, engulfing you whole and it feels like heaven.

let cold mists be your cradle, dissolve in the scent of coffee,
be a blink and a crashing wave, light and strong and frothy.
there are hundreds of paths, mysterious, unbeknownst,
just around every corner, inviting you to get lost,
to fill up with serene leaden clouds, thick smoke, gunpowder.

minstrels are singing, the songs grow more hypnotic and louder,
you listen, confused and omnipotent, dark and burning,
they sing you about hunters and gods and yearning,
witches and monsters, the dead dancing in the moonlight,
a vizier, a killer, a werewolf and a knight.

those tales are alive, coming out of every wall:
dragons, lions and snakes and scarecrows on the prowl.
and the sunsets are copper, they're smiling, they call to you,
want to take you away to the land of the wild runes,
where there's rustling seas and wizards and soot with salt.

no one would get so far if they didn't halt,
if you're hearing old songs, it means that there is no death.
choose to whom to say prayer: Hades, Cthulhu, Seth,
spellbound, listen to murmuring winds, stately calling hawks
becoming a string,
a river,
a nine-tailed fox.