As the autumn leaves,
You’re coming home.
Maple trees shattered in your hands,
Cracks permeated the branches.
I asked, with confusion,
“Why would you just stare at the tree trunk,
Watch them splintering and withering away?
You did not speak, but responded with a pale smile.
Your eyes had said all the answers.
Before the winter comes,
A pious kiss fell on your forehead,
And you held my hand for one last time.
As the autumn leaves,
This dream has to end.
The cloud gives all its gold to the departing sun,
As it bows its head to kiss the desolate and bitter shore.

Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash