Forest Floor

Its puzzling how in this Forest leaves like dead fluttering flakes fall around me, sprinkling around my path while the ground beneath me rustles with rotten mulch, layers of shedding smelling of decay and dust. Layers of lineage around me, the canopy dripping last remnants of a season. I want to lay down and sleep. To roll down into the berm of the forgotten pulling a blanket of forefathers across me. I imagine the moss would befit me, like a pillow of springy green to greet my woes. I think Ive lost the path, weeping, feet numb, tired in shock, worn from rambling, looking for direction, where leaves keep falling, obscurring directions.