Leaves of Autumn

The streets are gold and red with leaves From the autumnal rains Rain on windows glistens and returns I wipe the fog from the glass To see people with broken umbrellas Walking towards a downtown train Buses hiss and roar as they stop to pick up passengers It is a hullabaloo. Monet paintings reflect my emotions Eyelids wide shut. Why? Can a moth make you insane? It flutters around the flame. It has a purpose. Like the people on the street We are all destined to end. Yet we keep on going. Knowing there is an end. The droplets slowly make there way down Inklings of death The truth is not known But the end is clear I watch the leaves swirl They are already dead A season pasted A season too early to have ended. What is it that makes us tick? The leaves move in slow motion Lifting up towards the heavens and then…. Dying…. Compost