Winds of Change
i lay stilled atop this muddied cold ground
a castaway like autumn's leaves deadened
unable, unwilling to move around
i sit bloodied, like skies of dawn, reddened
i am bathed in november's cold, harsh rain
pummeled by the fate of past's sniffling cries
slowly succumbing beneath weighted pain
i reach out attempting to dry my eyes
perhaps it is the will of fate to die
to wither and crumble atop this ground
to gather where the helpless others lie
to succumb here, unseen, wrinkled and browned
is life's pain something to be remembered
or cast off in the winds of december?
11/21/2020
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2020
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