The leaves have died and rest beneath my feet;
A sorry metaphor for wilting dreams.
I stand here bare and cannot be discreet -
My skin begins to rend its fragile seams.
The sea will take my tears with little thought;
The wind will take my dreams with not a care.
I stalked the world for love but all I caught
Were beasts that tempted me into their snares.
The clouds have oft amassed about my head -
My blood has always run a little thin -
And so I view the world with fright and dread,
And try to suture up my fraying skin.
When life is nothing more than falling leaves,
Abort all thoughts of joy and simply grieve.
Ben, This one caught the flow of my imagination and deep thought banging my sense to wonder how I have been perceiving life and it's sorrowful trends of disappointment.
You made the thought worthy the attention and I for once had to be open to possibility that i do not need to force myself into a life that watches my shadow as I struggle, one can chose to abort a life that brings no joy and grieve the loss.