A Colorful Decay

The tree is life

whose leaves

are sensitive

to change.

Drops in warmth,

they dry

a crumbling death.

While others marvel

at its colourful decay,

Crying

its over

all too soon.

Weave a web

or leave instead.

I’m prisoner

to my will to live.

Roots deep in dirt,

I dig to rip them out.

Darkness, my blanket

You’ll never leave me astray.

I thought

you were blinding

my path,

when you were

just showing me

the way.

[A.R]