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
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