I am a tree in Fall.
I stand still and watch my memories change
Color in the cool weather.

I feel them
Growing weaker
And weaker.

I begin to forget them
As they shrivel up,
Detach and are whisked away by the wind.

Their fate lies crushed under thick boots, once
Dancing like frogs in the luminous headlights
Across the ancient highway.

Forgotten.
No longer pestiferous in their existence,
floating on like abandoned enigmas.

Odious infernal vagabonds, tramps  
Camping outside the windows of my mind
Parading pitiful parasites.

Praying away they are swept
Like a room unkempt
At least lock the door so to forget.

The wind remembers.

Carrying their corpses to the world unknown
Ambiguity in promised eternal rest
Frondescent purgatory.

The wind, leaning in close
To hear their last words
Icy dread bequeathing an autumn chill.

She laid them down morosely,
Kissing their forehead,
Quickly turning on its way.

The leaves struggled to follow their stricken vessel,
Tossing and turning in its wake
But they were already forgotten.

By the boots, the wind,
the lights, the highway,
And I.

I look forward to the days of frozen landscapes,
Anonymity in the wake of omitted identity
Superseding a fragile existence.

Closing my eyes I shudder
As the wind seeks to rectify me
Into the uninterrupted blank slate.

A prepared cringe, a response
To impending sobbing at my feet,
Antiquities now quite bothersome.

Like a lost child,
They beg to be cooed and nurtured,
Loved and cherished.

I continue to look ahead,
Ignoring their presence like vexing strangers.
I hear their souls cry out in anguish

As they are tossed by the unwary wind
Bashed into rancorous rocks
Drowned in the rapacious rivers

Crunched under bellicose boots
Burned with their brothers and sisters
Stabbed, scattered,

Chewed and vilely spit out
By the grating teeth of a ravenous
And frightening creature,

Held on a wooden leash by a pair of coarse hands
That float above the thick boots;
They sift between its sharpened fangs.

The days grow colder.
Histories are soon forgotten,
As time begins to slow.

Shedding any remaining sense of self
I am at peace with my surroundings
I close my eyes and take deeper breaths.

The wind's frigid breath fills my lungs
My chest, my stomach;
It resonates through my body

Down to my feet so entrenched in the earth
And up through my outstretched arms
To the tips of my icy fingers.

As I begin to freeze over
I feel that I am about to take
My last breath.

I draw in the cool air around me;
It fills me.
I hold it in.

I am growing still.
There is nothing to hold me back
No past to regret.

There is no present to seek
No journey or quest
No first step or new chapter.

There is no future
For the moment
For time is standing still.

With my eyes closed,
With my last breath held,
The wind and time envelop me.

In their arctic clutch
I succumb to the vast white emptiness
With joy and peace

In my heart.
Time has stood still
And I am asleep.