Autumnal Ball

sun dappled shadows gambol on the ground
swaying branches ablaze with muted colors
Gaia laughs
shimmering translucent mirth
she shakes her head tossing her hair
as leaves tumble in a madcap freefall
cavorting gaily in the swirling gusts of wind!

An Immortal Vice..

In the glass house there was a pen,
coffee loyalty card plus a dice.
Belief, to mend all that he’d broken,
but still he knew they were only a vice.

A roll of the dice never harmed a sole,
while scribing words were so painful.
As the ink dried scribbles took their toll,
he felt a gambler’s unbalanced approval.

The vice was just a crack from the surface,
creating all sort of dither, fear and loss.
Delusions took hold with such finesse,
alluding the misconception, of a final toss.

 If in written words
 I wanted to tell
how much I owe you
I'd need some more forests
with more trees 

I'd need more tears to flood
(the ink of the eyne)
to evince my real gratitude
for a heart I thought is mine.

Hence I'll quit the clichéd words
and quietly decline
leaving a blank piece of paper
with a naked simple sign
                                                   

                            Rula.Y.H.

At the close of winter days,
On which the sun has paid an unexpected call,
The orange red sunset painted on the aqua sky,
Is soon mixed into a muddy gray.
All appears suspended in motionless anticipation,
Waiting for day and night to decide whose turn it is to stay.
In those several seconds,
Just before night tucks in the day,
Beneath a polka-dotted blanket,
The child's mind is drawn to all the events just past.
Within this recollection then is made the silent wish,