Paranoid
I get a little paranoid sometimes.
Sometimes it seems like the trees
are all looking at me
judging me
whispering in the wind
along the forest edge
with soughing passivity
all the things everyone else knows
I ought not to have done
Autumn quiets those whispers.
I see the truth of the matter
as they flash orange and yellow.
Ominous jaundiced illness
Hang dog looks
Desperate clinging beauty
A silent inchoate mourning
They’re holding on as long as they can
Not their fault
Programmed to release
It’s only biology
It feels like they’re trying
to break it to me kindly
Maybe they desire my forgiveness
Maybe they deserve it
having done all they could
to halt the inevitable fall
Now displaying caution yellow
Maybe they've already forgiven themselves
Maybe it's a warning
No comments:
Post a Comment