With bedfellow of wind, that blow,
Cold and endless,
Red, brown, yellow, gold
Autumn leaves ball their dance,
Crinkle through their existence
And crawl from aisle to path.
Controlled by fate, are they
Or by chance?
Fragile, like animal minds
That can be trod on,
Crushed:
Slighting down the road,
Like man, abject to man,
Brightly colored, but false,
Like humankind’s façade;
The blatant exterior, and the alveolate being,
Enslaved by the wind,
The ability it cannot overthrow,
So man succumbs to nature,
And to fate,
Once shriveled, these lives don’t recover
And crumple into oblivion
Countless, like the stars above
Their souls dot the horizon
And below, like the wind,
Into realms yet not explored.
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