The Pyle Inside

Fall comes with leaves,
More beautiful than flowers,
And grey skies.
 
Fall is the season of harvest,
While the bleak ground,
Is decorated with the remains,
Of shattered memories.
 
Trapped in the empty theatre,
Are our materialistic ideas of change,
I’m the only one,
Who hasn’t watched its premier.
 
I think that I’ll watch it,
When my world,
Has no colors remaining.