Fall
Adorned with fall's first rain,
Men of mystery
Face each other.
Heads tilted down,
In the terse winds.
Casual nods by necessity
Their demeanor
Is anything but calm.
Faces fast losing color,
Words never losing edge.
'Take down the root', one said.
'He's the one that matters.'
'But we'll die for sure.'
'What's the point,
When we're fated for Death anyway?'
Futile conversation persists
As the hooded
Looked on.
He drew his weapon,
Thinking their last thought:
Leaves don’t talk.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
