Poetry

Drifting softly into the wind
The dead leaves of the autumn
turned trees
Swept away onto the soft palm
of the earth
One by one, colors you only imagine,
the leaves float away
Realizing, it’s their time to go
Realizing, in the spring
Twill be their time to come,
and blossom once more
And fall again in autumn






I look at what
I have done
Now, to me
there’s none
who understand
the sun
quite like I

I sulk in the
darkness
searching for light
Although it is night
all I see is the sun
And there’s no one
left to understand
what
I have done