Poem – “One of Autumn Leaves” – Modern Romanticism – 4/14/2022

Blown free from arms
of a tree, leaving dust in a fall,
settling in the hands
of winter to its call.
Am I here, given a blanket of cold?
Offered a quilt of something
not for me to scold –

in truest gratitude,
that the faces of emptiness
see more in me than the shadows
where I lay, underneath.

Under where faint droplets of dew
are cursed, to never renew
themselves, in the same spot.

Beneath cold covers,
I am here to be smothered
by more the blankets
than the pillow.

Where I rest my head
is by chance, for the clouds.
For the rain
allows itself loose to carve
stains into the grains.
Crumbling in pain.

Just a leaf for someone to write
a testament to their joy.
To have me, to keep
the fragile pulse of a heartbeat
close, upon the bed
before curtains are drawn closed,
before I am laid down to stall
the next of Autumn’s fall.

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