Lives
             Like
Leaves
             Fall
Down

...follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep. Time becomes a living dream about life, which in turn finds you, one day, walking deeper into the forest.

Here I sit and think and ponder
While my wild mind keeps its wander
And my son enjoys his slumber
But my thoughts increase in number

What a world we wield these days
Of trump cards played in wicked ways
And all around us keeping haste
My thoughts can do naught else but pace

Yet without what we hide within
There would not be a tale to spin
Or crash and burn in red hot sin;
Forgive me as I drop a pin

My Son, I must relay to you
A thought which haunts us lucky few
Who often wish we never knew:
The only truth, these days, is you

Crawl inside, where they can't get to you.  Where their questions go unanswered, as would yours, if you asked any.  It is quiet here; that's one thing you can rely on.  If you squint your ears you can almost hear a car passing outside.  Almost.  Depression is a relativistic term that is below you.  You are Normal.  You are Alone.  You are You.

She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

The careful reader reminding themselves of the mental gymnastics required to master regret.

Mistakes happen for a reason; people make them.

Time bounds past and flips when remembering tears to be shed.

We have always been torn.

Neither rhyme nor a reason lie buried beneath this coarse verse.

I forgot where I'm going, again.

Let's rehearse.