autumn softly falls
with dusky arms
along the sprawling desert
steady shadows
stretch across drab mountains
beneath undulous lunar fleece
peace
at last
returns
the valley undisturbed
lay brushed with slow umber
the tow of our loss
now a blustering aria
riding on the wisted winds
of change
footsteps
may never we furnish
to fill
giant then
as we have become
touted
in this tawdry place
no plea for purpose
born as we are
to belong
bare witnesses
witless to bear
through journeys long
we rediscover
freedom
was e’er in our hands
bleeding
from our faltering fingertips
to see us
endeavor
as ever we are
children
of uncharted stars
our hearts surpassing
time’s distortion
waiting
to again
forget
[image credit: Edvard Munch]
Max, or Not 
Beautifully written and so thought provoking
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Reblogged this on RamJet Poetry and commented:
Max Meunier, master wordsmith
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Beautiful.
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Fantastic beyond. Such majestic imagery painted with your words….
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beneath undulous lunar fleece — wow wow wow. I think you may have also given new life to an old root word. Someday I know I’ll be using “wisted.”
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Soulful.
Loss and hope too?
We must always have hope.
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