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.