Fall of a Melancholic
Tracing back…
that is what I am doing now,
just tracing back
along this woodland path,
in an attempt to grasp remnants
of a time
when I felt so alive, yet dying.
Thoughts and memories,
they fall like these leaves,
a melange of confusion, beauty and frailty
Swept away by the wind, scattered
or swept into a pile, unified.
Either way, they can be stomped on,
brittle leaves crushed into a satisfying crunch.
All around me,
there’s a profusion of vermilion, gold and copper
but those reds have always been my favorite—
so alive, yet can also mean bleeding.
I see a pumpkin carved out,
a creepy smile adorning its face
A chuckle escapes from my lips,
remembering that time
when laughter lived in harmony
with love.
Now, I am not sure anymore…
Because how can something
that had so much hope, so verdant,
change?
I am a fool, for the answers
are so obvious—
I only need to look at these leaves.
So much like our lives, these seasons…
Not very long,
I will be staring up at argentine skies.
The thought of it gives me chills—
I pray for spring.
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