Rewrites

there are works that wont be finished after a thousand rewrites the mind holds a larger sky the years glide like the leaves in the flame of autumn and you hold the thought that the pastiche of thoughts can look a better season with time like how wine matures There are works that wont be finished after a thousand rewrites and after years that glide away like leaves blasting the red of autumn you hold the thought that the pastiche of your thoughts can look better than it should There are works that won't be finished after a thousand rewrites the years glide away like red leaves blasting autumn your mind turns and turns and you still find a larger sky coming your way to improve the flow of your verses