Written by Diana Garcia
Trees sway and swoon as there leaves begin to decay
Soaring winds blowing all and even my sins away
Beneath these November trees are memories
Of summers past. Romances that would never last.
Laughs that still bring a smile, thoughts of whom
I haven't seen in a while.
Season change is inevitable, the leaves always fall
Even the sun descends and the moonlight always comes to an end
If all change can be seen could it all look so serene?
What a blessing it would be if my change
was as pleasant as the night sky
Maybe it is
or at least I can try..
Yesterday, 9 bags of dead leaves came to my morgue. They used to live on the tallest tree on my backyard.
As I cleaned their dry and pale bodies, I felt sorry, because they no longer have their natural beauty. Their skins were parched like they never used lotion.
They lied on the table silently, and noticed not my touch. After I was done cleaning them up, I put them in 9 black trash bags.
No one was around to say goodbye, except me. So, I changed them into proper clothing, and gave them my tears as their head pillow, whilst preparing them for their viewing and their final farewell.
Their mother is still standing tall, barely naked, almost stone deaf to the pains the seasons inflected on her each year, for her children are being taken away, and their existence vanishes without any trace. Yet, she smiles through her unbearable pains, knowing she will bore more children again, in multiples, when another Fall comes back again.
She accepted her fate that the remaining young and beautiful children will also be gone, day by day, and soon will be forgotten, like the ones that were departed before them.
I kissed each one of them on their foreheads. They will be buried tomorrow, when the waste collector takes them to their final resting graveyard, with the other foreign bodies collected along the way.
Through it all though, it daunted on me about my own final days. I wondered, if anybody will be there for my final farewell.
Will I be buried alone or alongside my siblings? Or will I be like the 9 bags, dry and pale skinned bodies of these fallen leaves?
I hope somebody would be around, at least to clean my body, and change me into a proper clothing, so I would look like how I had used to be, before the day of the viewing.
The golden leaves are sobbing
Shedding their tears away
For Winter is pacing to arrive
With the fall of Fall’s dismay
The petals are falling
Soon to be a decay
Until Fall comes around
After a long time delay
Seasons come seasons go
The orange leaves
once again will blow
Till then they'll hibernate
Leaving an indelible trace
But do wait patiently
To take their rightful place
crows near barn faded red white stripe panes
scitter scatter peck at grass
coated floor scavenging seeds
overhead like gold/red skyscrapers
folks claim it's passed us by
it jostles senses
ramshackle deck weak 'n worn flimsy 'n haphazard
wobbly uncertain balls on railing
fall into hands
dismantling of childhood
once was no longer is
whistles blow crunchers onto old meeting place
furry Beanie Baby zips across pole
I lay down and ponder.
How did I get beyond my adolescence?
27 now how did it get to this? I'm afraid to reminiss. Honest I feel boredom creeping in on a more frequent basis.
I look at my sis and wonder what she really thinks. I look at my elder one and think stay strong to the youngest I say brace yourself for reality.
I dived into mine and divine intervention is the only thing that can help me now. Because it's hell trying to maintain my health in the midst of addiction and anxiety. All I do is wish for yesterday and today drags on like a medieval curse. Where it seems my best is my worst.
Closer to 30 but what does that even mean? I'll still be a baby to my seniors my brother wants me to get fit like seizures. I have no response except to dwell on what I once was.
I peer around waiting for boredom to disappear I wonder if the days of disaster are near- because right now the couch life has got me feeling sofa. So far from any fantasy or worthy nightmare.
My mornings are filled with reluctance so I make a song and dance daunting as the days of my awkward infants.
If things don't change at my will. I feel nature will take it's course and I may be court in autumnatic freeFall
through the naked trees
the winter wind blows into
the depths of my heart