The rusty orange color
spotted with browns
clinging to life,
floating gently to the ground

wrinkled and crinkled
the leaf feels like leather
slowly it's dying
it's only the weather

such a lonely time of year;
the trees without leaves
they dry up and shrivel
being blown 'round my feet

as I watch them dancing
in the sharp cold breeze,
stinging my cheeks
and shaking my knees.

Pumpkin seed scent;
the smell of Fall
sprinkled sunlight
splashes them all.

yellows, reds and purples
the colors of their death,
so beautiful to our eyes
but to our hearts, maybe not yet.

That Sunday Morning,
the fresh scent of winter in the air,
just slightly coming through the door every time it opens,
entering with the people coming in from the outside,
and following them everywhere they go.

Everyone seated,
spaced out as if saving a seat for someone that was never coming.
A man up at the front,
he speaks,
wanting me to listen,
and he thinks I am for my eyes are on him,
but my mind wanders farther away with every word he says.

He asks for a moment of silence,
and as I see curly, grey-haired women
and the almost fully-bald elderly men bow their heads,
I too, look to the floor.

I do not close my eyes like everyone else;
they remain open as I study my shoes on the back of the pew in front of me.
I know I shouldn't have my feet on the books,
getting them ***** from the dry, dust-like dirt on the bottom of my shoes,
but I do it anyway.

I finally notice the silence of the room,
so big it could echo with every slight movement you make,
yet remains silent.

There are so many people in here with me,
too many to count without getting distracted by the beautiful fall leaves,
catching the warm, yellow sunlight outside the partially shaded window.
Still so silent you can hear the clock ticking from the other side of the room.

For the first time I close my eyes
and picture darkness.

My mind wanders and finally,
when I open my eyes,
seeing so many people surprised me,
for the silence was so deep,
it was as if their spirits had left their bodies,
As if they were already in Heaven,
As if God had already called them home,
but he left me behind because I had not listened to what the pastor was saying.
Because I never closed my eyes during prayer,
or maybe, because I had my feet on the pew in front of me,
dirtying the books.

Through troubled times of struggle, hearts were muddled, I'd dissemble,
I'd drop your hand, chest buckles, you withstand and reassemble,
you've restored so many times what I've tore down, disassembled...
you understand my loss, first hand, "I love you", your lips trembled.

Though record shows my deeds forgo your love, you're more than gentle,
refused the bounds of apprehension, tension disassembled,
unleashed affection, your devotion, yet emotions tremble,
there's something uncontrolled, it has a hold within, it's mental.

Your intuition, my acts of indecision, temperamental,
propriety, on my behalf, falls way short of monumental.
Your heart permits my love, undeserving, unconditional,
though reservations pull back elation, unpredictable.

I promise you my heart, my spirit, it's unequivocal,
you complete the parts of me I thought were integral.
Burdens, troubles, tension, dissension, all now invisible,
all replaced by exuberance I once thought was mythical.

Trepidation, dread, fixation on perceived forged fictionals,
bring forth false truths expected to be unpredictable.
Look forward, opened heart and eyes, keep close what's fundamental,
I understand your fear, first hand, "I love you", my lips tremble.

I wish for the ability to see through eyes of passion
looking inward
where it can be as warm and fragrant as spring
when the air is heavy
and the birds share secrets
not meant for me to know.

And it can be as desolate
as the city's midnight sky
when the clouds seem to sink into heaven's underground.

How beautiful is this?
Granting me the pleasure of the imaginary.
But still I can't keep from wondering...

How beautiful is poetry
when words are pebbles in your shoes?

How beautiful is freedom
when held in the hands of the clock tower?

How beautiful is peace
when it slips your grasp like the streams' fish?

The answer lies in how we allow our eyes to see,
whether it be our mind, our heart, or our soul.

The hard part is knowing the difference.

The skies above me falling down
No place to go to escape from it
Sometimes I wish it would just go away from my life
I’m lying out under the clouds
I’m sleeping through all my precious time
I used to waste my time dreaming of leaving this place
(Now I only waste it dreaming of home)

Chorus:

Turn upside-down and turn down the sky
All of the clouds rain the tears that I cry
And all the pain that fills me up will go away
Like the snow in the spring

The skies above me falling down
No place to go to escape from it
I used to waste my time on…
Waste my time on…
Waste my time dreaming of leaving this place
(Now I only waste it dreaming of home)

(Chorus)

I’ve got nightmares
While moonlight shines through my open window
I’ve got nightmares
While moonlight shines through my open window
I lay awake
The skies above me falling down

(Chorus)

Why do you push me?
Is it because you know I'm already so close to the edge?
I can only be pushed so far before I fall off,
But maybe you already know that.
Maybe you want me to fall,
To be bleeding,
To die
On the jagged rocks below.
Maybe that's a bit dramatic.

Or maybe you don't want me to fall,
Just to be so close to the edge,
So very close
So that maybe you can rescue me.
Maybe you want to go back
When our love existed,
If you can even call it love at all.
But I won't go back.

We had nothing but meaningless words
And lying hearts.
It wasn't our fault.

It was everything around us,
Inside us,
Above us,
Looking down on us,
Unintentionally destroying us,
Maybe like you, right now...
Not knowing that I'm so very close to the edge,
About to fall off,
To lie on the jagged rocks,
Bleeding because you pushed me just a little too far.

Maybe you don't mean to push me so far,
And maybe you don't care about getting back
What you thought we had.
Maybe I'm the one holding on
To what's best let go.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to listen,
To understand,
To wake up to the truth.
But I don't want to wake up.
It like it in my dream world,
It's perfect here.

Out there you never know what to think,
Believe,
Who to listen to
Or trust.
Maybe I'm not meant to exist in the outside world.
And maybe I don't...

And maybe you don't exist.
Maybe I just made you up,
And there's really no one pushing me.
I'm just walking willingly,
Maybe even running,
Toward the edge.

Or maybe
There really is no edge at all.