by t. anderson
Trying my hand at making riddles
No road but wheels
No steering with no need
No tracks to fall in afterwards.
I am often spent in haste
Never looked back in regret
Everyone knows what I am when I arrive
After I am done legacies remain
All before the meal
Lucky to those always unlucky
Evil to the true evil
No life summons me
As I roll in succession
A knife in the back
Through a bleeding heart
No scar needs to heal now
It opens every day until forgotten
What can speak a lie and make it a truth
I have four corners always carry a number or two
and can always be brought back to its owner
Fifteen of us stand in formation we share two hands
Yet then we are ten
I paint with time, but never blue I twirl and spin under the leaves letting them rest in peace before next year starting anew.
Fall / autumn
I am you, me and, everyone, but only one at a time. Often I am lost with time or greed sometimes returning to my home but not always. Finally I can be as recognizable as the nose on your face or hidden under a hood I am always there however, what am I?
Making you think I am either a deranged gambler’s tool or a spot of good fun. The best get better with time and some have no answer, what am I?