In the blue ruins
where time never existed,
dead cats, their eyes full of spiders,
rot in the stairwell.

There are no autumn flowers
save those which are dying, yet
this remains the most eloquent
of seasons.

It is not the colder nights
and clouded days which
bring these blossoms to fade.

It is their desperate aching for
a life more holy and free.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blood-of-weeds-and-flowers/