Thoughts turned to poems

  This is a pretty old poem, from 2017, I just never got around to adding it to

my blog.

  

On one dark and dreary day

you know, the kind made up

of mainly blueish greys

with dirty whites and

lightish browns scattered

here and there

I stumbled on

a burst of light and color.

It came from the 

late-fallen autumn leaves,

around a silvery tree.

It was like they gathered

summer's sun and colors,

and maybe some of the

summer warmth too,

and stored it there,

waiting until now, today,

to release it...

What you heard was true

I'm allowed to make up words

because I am a writer.

You can't tell me

"They're not real"

because they are...

In using them, 

I've made them so.

It's called poetic license,

or maybe artistic license,

whatever phrase you want to use.

They're real, I made them so.

It kind of seems to me

like fire stores happiness,

and maybe... Memories.

It's a magical thing, fire,

It burns and destroys,

reduces everything

to ashes and coals.

But in the process...

Makes fiery flowers,

dances and radiates warmth.

Bringing happiness,

but also sadness.

It destroys, 

and simultaneously,

can also lift up.

This poem is like my mind;

it's made up of many

disjointed thoughts,

turned to incomplete poems,

compiled into a complete work.

Maybe life is like

a poem...

Or a thought somewhere

in some random person's mind,

or a story not yet finished?

And I'm the end,

the very end, maybe...

Everything will make sense.

Maybe the last piece

will finally fall into place.