He stopped mid-sentence.
He took their offense
quite seriously
and, with a dash
of omnipotence,
saw the fall folly.

One and only one arrow
points to this tree, narrow
and quite bleached and,
with a European tint,
sheltered a girl.
Leaves burnt on the skin
of Mother Nature,
burnt by lack of chlorophyll.
Pumpkin-orange yearns to
cause tree-white
harrow.

Back in the debate
“Kannst du nicht warten – wait!”
Mahogany trends
designed this room of
uninterested people with
hunger to sate;

His powerful, wintry heart
is taking a step back
in time. He is harboring
fate in his heart like
iron boots left aside –,
grievous greaves weighing things down in ferrum.

He fell back from
his wooden podium
showing a modicum
of care
by yearning the boat to come.

A cryogenized hull of darkness
was his mind, melting
in the warmth of a
dying tree a ways away.

He clutched his core
agony pushing far beyond sore
OPEN THE DOOR
HE’S GOING TO DIE

But he had a dream –
However black and white
he spoke to seam
and seal
would never end the color
of the turning wheel –
He had erred, but now
Winter ended “how.”
How he wished to
return to the girl in
fall, but
too late.
He already fell.