Innocent

The riddle is the rhyme in the moment of truth.

The middle, like a cozy spot in the sun.

The the leaves changed and the chaos became.

A wintry storm on the run.

For a moment a ride was a painted sky.

Beaming with colors that would light up and fly.

Soaring and gliding but finally colliding.

With a horrifying blinded high.

Innocent, why me.

Heaven sent, so I can see.

Innocent, likely will I believe.

The innocent.

Tomorrow may I awake to find a grave mistake.

Or, has the spring arrived with colors in the sky.

To another day in search I stray.

Innocent, why me.

Heaven sent, so I can see.

Innocent, likely will I believe.

The innocent.