Direction

To sit in class and think of fall The elegantly fragile season which attracts them all I go through class, my days, evaluating why Pondering why my world seems to all but die Not through physical means, rather as a result of my own existentiality Time itself is the greatest enemy of all No man no god can escape its final call Which leads me to question the path I’ve chosen Is it one to which ill resist the heading of my fall? Is it a direction of unhappiness, a direct toll on my soul? To which I may never be able to know Without the seeds of sorrow inevitably taking sow