Leaves fell to the ground that day

Covering the earth thick with decay

The scents in the fog seep moisture and rot

As I'm digging this grave out of sight and earshot.

Midst the tombstones and mist, the devil will see

My hands coated red from this damnable deed.

But no matter. It's done, and I'll finish this game.

No more will I cower in weakness and shame.

Your fist will not rise if it's buried in earth.

And you'll spew no more filth with a mouth full of dirt.

I will live life unrestricted beyond your domain

Wishing maggots feasting freely on your putrid remains.

You once termed me evil--a demon from hell.

As it turns out, my love, you knew me too well...

Leaves fell to the ground that day

Your tears spoke when you didn't know what to say

We died in that moment

Flatline

I turned my back on you

The silence confirmed the truth

The anger in your eyes

It couldn't hide your lies

Like the tears that spoke when you didn't know what to say

Urging me to walk away

It was as if the world had ceased

Guilt was your silent beast

Waiting to tear us apart

Each lie a scar on my heart

As the air grew still, and the world turned grey

The leaves lay on the floor in disarray

While the heavens cracked and fell to the ground

The birds remained silent, even the ravens made no sound

And then the thunder started

The horses of the dead came to collect the departed

The bones of us

Left amongst the leaves and the dust…

and the bullshit.

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

Leaves fell to the ground that day

I could not see them hiding where they'd land

Beneath a fog, who was awake and waiting to scurry that trail

Behind me, to disguise my own toes from the air

I could feel them slide between the concrete and soles 

The tearing of tired skin from a brittle bone 

But I could not hear the crunch of their fingers

The trees were too loud with their shrieking and mourning

Having lost what they'd grown from sweet buds

Even knowing before their leaves spun into gravel 

That a racket could never save the end to it all 

They were always destined to fall that way

Leaves fall to the ground that day.

Time strikes half past dead.

I smell the bitter scent of death.

Blistering tears of leaves scatter

in banshee winds, howling sorrowfully.

Rough hewn afternoon, bloody street,

tones of Fall written in somber gray.

The hour was hers and hers alone -

a fallen leaf carved on frozen earth.

Sneering trees and wounded leaves,

weeping willow mourns her loss

shadowed eyes, ashen, downcast

white blur of sorrow marks her grave.

I stand at the casket and watch rain,

cold quilts of silver ribbons entwined,

wishing I could have controlled

the raging, endless storm of her mind,

the crumbles of her life scattered

as crusts of leaves, fallen and decayed.

Leaves fell to the ground that day

The silent wind of death blew 

And you wept

As the breath gurgled in your lungs

Like his did

Before he died

As if

The vortexes of fire and blood

That were once the leaves

Were trapped 

Inside

Your lungs

Trying

To get out 

And the leaves

Kept falling

The same way

They did

Off

Your family tree

But still 

The leaves would not stop falling

And eventually

You too

Drifted off

In the wind

Leaves fell to the ground that day.

Birds chirped in the branches that day. 

Frost coated the roofs that day. 

Just like any other day,

Any other chilly morning in November. 

It was unfair.

Unfair that the leaves could drift gently down to the sidewalk.

Unfair that birds could sing their songs and flap their wings.

Unfair that frost could glimmer silently on rough shingles.

Unfair that the Earth could go on turning after what had happened.

Yesterday I would have stepped on the crunchy leaves

And listened with my eyes closed to the music of the birds

And drawn patterns in the beautifully delicate frost. 

But that was a day ago, an age ago.

That was a different person.

That was a girl who hadn't been woken in the middle of the night by a frantic mother.

That was a girl who hadn't collapsed to the ground and screamed into her shirt.

That was a girl who hadn't sobbed until she couldn't breathe and kept on going after that. 

That was a girl who's best friend hadn't killed herself.

I wanted to hit someone, 

To attack someone, 

To beat someone up until they felt even a fraction of the pain I did.

A fraction of the pain she must have. 

But there was no one to attack.

No bullies or cruel girls or mean boys.

No abusive parents or messed up siblings.

No one but the demon inside of her head that broke her down until she brought a knife to her own wrist.

Now the leaves can crumble and the birds can fly away and the frost can melt.

And the whole world can go on in its malicious cycle of creation and destruction.

And people can walk and laugh and talk and live like they did yesterday and the day before.

And maybe one day I'll be able to too.

But it will never be the same again.

Leaves fell to the ground 

as I buried you 

it covered your body 

and lifted you up into the sky 

and slowly you became a part of the universe 

and the sky began to weep and rejoice 

and envelop you in the great spirit 

the wolfs howl at the moon 

and sound off your arrival 

the birds gather around 

and fly high in the sky to lead the way 

sunflowers bow their heads in prayer begging god to safeguard your soul and turn you into a flower 

the heavens crack open and shine light 

and sing hymns of hope 

and yelling praises 

angels widen their wings 

and open the gates of heaven 

and envelop you 

in gods open hands 

and gods shuts the gates of heaven 

and the moment ends 

and then the grief and sadness sinks in........

Leaves fell to the ground that day…

When Death knocked on my door

It was three light taps but it resonated throughout the small cabin

Death was very polite—but did enter without permission

Not knowing what to do, I offered Death a cup of coffee

Death accepted the drink with curiosity

Smiling and gaining courage I offered Death a cookie

Death again accepted the cookie and ate it with zest

Then Death looked into my soul with a tilt of its head

Having nothing else to offer—I offered a place to stay

Leaves fell to the ground that day…

             When Death left my doorstep—without me.

#nightdwellers  #beginningline

Leaves fell to the ground that day, the young girl could hear the demons laughing as the trees regurgitated their happiness onto her. Yellows, oranges, and bright crimsons played with her eyes as the world reminded her of all she had to lose. She found it intriguing how one could spent years chasing after happiness, wealth, or whatever the hell people thought to bring joy these days, but yet it all came down to nothing. She wasn't about to be some sad story that lives out her final days in the hope of an epic turnaround and uncovering the great meaning of life, no one outside of a Hallmark movie has time for that; rather she panned on going on just as she had begun. Day after day. Step after step, until her feet gave out. First it would be her feet, then her hands, her memory, then her her heart. She was on the brink of something great, yet here she was in her mid-twenties prepared to lose it all. No husband, no family, no mansion or trips abroad, her whole life she had spend just living one simple day after the other and maybe it was better that way. Maybe it's just better not to say goodbye, cry at the thought of being gone, pound fists against a table as you reload your baby girls never gonna see you become a grandma to her children; maybe it's just simply better to disappear.

Leaves fell to the ground that day from His-Majesty, —— the lone sycamore standing tall in the center of the orchard. Of no concern for any other day in the late fall,—— yet — this was mid summer. Wet and rotting the dead matter fell covering the carpet of green grass like a festering blanket ready to spread its disease. Clinging in a lost battle to the tree’s drooping branches, its clusters of round spiked fruit dropped one-by-one from their once majestic height; — as powder they fell, floating like ash from a once favored position.

The wind picked up,— and just a wisp of the composting aura from the base of the king drifted to its nearest subject. The fruit tree’s bright ripe produce began to wither, then shrivel, then turned to dust; its leaves blackened under the summer sun. Then the tree dropped to the ground toward its king in one last plea for succor, yet life could not be offered. The occurrence rippled through the orchard as each in-turn succumbed to its fate.

Lightning erupted from the clear sky striking the monarch at the center of death, splitting its trunk in-two. Cleaved in-half, the parted wings burned, turning day to night — as the smoke and soot darkened the sky.

But out of the rubble a glimmer of light flickered from the root-stock of the old sycamore. The buzzing of insects could be heard drowning out the flames of the toasted wings. Honey flowed from a crack in what remained of the split trunk of the dead king. And as the golden river flowed from the root-stock a breath of new life was offered?—— if we could only understand this truth.