Oooh, this looks fun! I luff poetry, so I shall begin with this one:

It comes quickly, always seeking
Tender frames with frail bones creaking
Voices cracking whilst they're speaking
Silently at night

Searching for those soon becoming
Wary of their own heart's drumming;
Nervous of It swiftly coming
Darkness, dusk, or light

Well aware of Its cruel glaring
Endless hours find It staring
At the soul, who knows It's baring
Icy wings of flight

Soaring low to the awaiting
No time left to fathom hating
What It's dark wings are creating:
A struggle with no fight.

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A Haiku on Autumn

Falling leaves descend
The crisp air burning my nose
The season for death



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