the road is long and windy

the leaves are dropping like rain

the darkness is above me and mixing with the atmosphere

like seasonal smoke

or the changing emotions you might see on a person’s face

if we could stand above the world, ignoring our own human nature

we could be gods

but instead,

we are leaves blowing in the wind

we are falling to the cold ground

frosty

or warm

faded or full of dead colors

the tragedy is not to admire the other leaves

as we float on empty air

their veins popping

with stress

and discoloration

their rage, unable to be eloquently expressed

we are all dying, discolored leaves

falling from the same tree

blown by the same wind

frozen on the same ground

a convertible drives by

mixing us up

as we gain levity

and fall back to the earth again

“I don’t understand…

I’m such a beautiful leaf

Why don’t the other leaves like me?”

All of them are shouting

and not asking

to be noticed

for their beautiful colors

to be pressed

between the pages of a wise book

to be preserved

by loving hands

but they fall to the ground anyway

spinning in circles

piling on top of each other

lost between the layers of seasons

pressed by the pressure

of forgotten leaves.

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