Poetry

---

My life (like the falling of leaves) will soon end quickly... I stop to watch for a brief second. They fall ever so softly in the cold autumn air, my gaze is fixed upon the spot where they land... I see the leaf look up at me; as if to say "watch closely my friend, for this is what fate looks like." I feel the chill of the wind as it picks up behind me and ever so softly as the leaf came; again it is blown farther away. I close my eyes and wonder... "is this it? is this all that life is about?" Starting and Ending, the parts of the book that all seem to remember... Will anyone remember the middle of me? Or am I doomed to the same fate as those leaves slowly dying? For all stop and watch with joy in their eyes as the leaves slowly die and fall down to the ground from where they came. Do those people even remember the middle of the leaves? They find joy in the start and end of things only... but the memory of what was, is long gone; replaced by the tombstone of the dead. When I pass, remember the middle... for that is what make the colors at the end... for that is what decides if I was the man of purpose or a man of nothing and taxes...

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE