Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze‐
Emily Dickinson, Besides The Autumn Poets Sing

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ode to the West Wind

Am I awake at all?
Do I wake up just to fall?
Am I still here when I'm gone?
Am I awake at all?
Elise Trouw, Awake

Adagio, HAUSER

Oblivion, NADiA Kossinskaja

Całopalenie2, Michał Lorenc

Awake, Elise Trouw