“It’s Much Too Late”
(c) 2017 by Michael L. Utley
Autumn rain
Cannot slake
Summer’s thirst
It’s much too late
For yellowed grass
And barren field
Leaves which fall unseen
Litter ground in mounds
Scarlet memories
It’s much too late
For mountain leas
Devoid of hue
Flowers fade
Petals drift
On chill wind
It’s much too late
For drought-cracked earth
And bitter weeds
Which cling to parched dirt
Brittle claws succumb
Snap like frail bones
It’s much too late
This autumn rain
Which rills the ground
Sweeps away
All that’s left
Of summer
It’s much too late
To heal the wounds
Of all that’s lost
All that’s left behind
All that’s left of life
All that’s left of me
It’s much too late
Silent Pariah 
Wow… You write like there s no tomorrow
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Plz check out my new post .. Awaiting feedback
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Thanks for your kind comment. I do my best, but as someone who has dealt with depression for a lifetime, sometimes it does indeed seem like there may be no tomorrow. However, writing out these feelings helps me see them from a different perspective and gives me the push I need to get through the dark morass of depressive thoughts. Writing is therapeutic and cleansing in this way.
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