Leaves

Crisp Scarlett leaves fall onto the grass
The withering brown grass
Standing upon the place I have stood
More times than is countable
I unclasp my hands and kneel down onto
The crisp scarlet leaves
I suppose pain doesn't exist on the outliers
Of my skin
But yet
I feel the ache threatening to consume
My insides
And leave me hollow
I place my fingers onto the leaves
Their surface feels oh so fragile
Their lives are evident in their
Veins
Turned brown from age
They have seen the light of spring
The warmth of summer
And the hardship of fall
And they shall meet their death
When winter comes

Reviews

[Laura Lynn]

I am reading all this telling myself, I think I will try to write a poem. I feel like this is the first time I have read anything. Too much parody around these parts here. Lovely poem. That you picked up and traced the veins on the leaves, everyone has got to do that.

[Entropy of the mind]

Thank you for your review, I am glad you enjoyed it. c: