Declining Vision

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

We glory in the hues, the orange and red

And rust and yellow of the fall although

We barely notice lingering in the shed

Of leaves the clinging on of greens so slow

To die and fall.  It is as if they’re sly

About their will to live.  The other leaves

Grab lungs and heart.  The green ones do not vie

For our attention.  Faultless conscience greaves

Inside our sight as if the scales on eyes

Of Saul are hijacked to the gel behind

Our lenses, filtering out the subtler sighs

Of living leaves.  Like Saul we all turn blind.

  Sand blind we victims fail to hear the green

    Within November’s shouting, urgent scene.

©  Phillip Whidden