mortality

Poem: The Window of Fall

From the window of my frigid office, I sit and look out at a street, emptied of life, dusted with defeated leaves bested by their season. Telling end to days of warmth, and the arrival of a new cold. Here I wait, here I look.

As the fated leaves of fall drop and whither, one must wonder if their schools of thought teach hope and chance. It is in this office I fight against the change of my own skin, as I feel myself clinging. Here I wait, here I look.