Perfect Paradoxes, October’s Oxymorons
The point of fall is melancholy joy.
The oranges, yellows, and the reds are breaths
Of autumn but in parallel destroy.
Their bright solemnity a trillion deaths
Entails. The oranges are calmly rife
With gorgeouness of gloom. They outdo reds
With shivering serenity. Where life
Meets death is fire. It makes flames shaped like shreds
That make us feel entire. The reds in turn
Express a heat that yellow beats with light,
A light of coldness cold enough to burn
Away regrets. These trees prohibit slight
Emotions unless they are eternal,
Heaven’s everlastingness infernal.