Autumn leaves

I sing to the autumn leaves

like a long lost friend, 

and they fall and circle 

and cascade down

to the cold hard ground.

— - — 

A mountain forms 

as the pile withers,

while the top eats the rotten

below and renews,

breathing life to the beneath.

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The Blue Door

For as long as I can remember, 

the Past had always manifested itself

into a door that was painted blue. 

But I had wanted one which was

raw and made of wood.

I would ask, “who painted the door?”

Searching for culprits,

“Who did it?” 

burning the Candle of Blame,

but there was no answer and no end. 

And still there were no possible tools,

to remake the door or to 

strip it to its wood.

But in time, 

I would take a liking to the color.

And when the candles had soon burnt out,

and the House had burnt down,

the Blue Door that was left

was all I could cherish.

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Currency

We see the world

from the eyes of a being

who can only see a sliver of it.

It is a pity that time 

is the only currency 

given —

but in a grand universe

full of possibilities,

I cannot afford to drown

in the well of regret

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Presence of absence

It is only in freedom

that we become afraid

to lose it

It is only in hope 

that we begin

to doubt

It is only in presence

that we become afraid 

of absence