Deciduous.
Watching your leaves fall,
defeated for another season.
Insincerity
makes my skin crawl.
Hear it everywhere.
True insipidness,
disguised thinly
as false bravado.
Bitter jealousy,
masquerading
as social care.
Constant,
draining,
oblique distress
and melancholy,
sold
as being self aware.
No distinct sickness.
This infection
seems to be quite general,
like a fog
of ultra-dense malaise.
I’m over here.
A pilot light
on a blowtorch.
About to be
burning off the haze.
Clean up the leaves.
Tidy up the space.
Burn all the refuse.
We have no place
to keep all of these
memories of despair.
Future might be pain,
but we know
the winter’s coming.
Watching the leaves fall,
knowing there is something
still undone.
Can’t sit still
until the final setting
of the sun.
The silence comes
when we don’t speak.
Say “Good-bye” to the weak.
The meek shall get the Earth,
but only after a season.
We all must die first.
The cold set in.
First the quieting
of the din,
and then the roaring
of the flame.
This is gonna be
a different place.
When the leaves return
under the same sun,
who will be there
to know their shade?
Will there be anyone?
Passing on
from summer ease,
now there’s no leaves on the trees.
Winter comes,
feel it on the breeze.
Will there be any
left of these?
HG – 2022
