Dying In Autumn
The misty sky above,
shelters the trees with its unforgiving grip.
The wind sings requiems unheard,
and tells tales long untold.
Leaves lay interwoven,
surrounding me.
Singes of ash from a fire so warm,
a fire in which I bathed not too long ago.
Autumn is a season like no other,
and cold is its sombre song.
As my soul withers away,
no longer tethered and trapped.
I laugh with glee,
"Oh! I see I am free"
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