Dried up cracks in the foundation of our nature,
like a slap to the face once you see the whole picture.
A necessary component of the undying fixture of false belief,
it's just a brief relief from your insecurities and grief.
The leaves turning red and falling to the ground, like spilt
It's a flood, mixed into the mud without ever making a sound.
But you can hear them screaming as spring rolls around,
begging that their newly grown brethren would not suffer the same beat-down.
They realize that one loss does not justify another, but it's too
If only they hadn't accepted their fate and gave up their ability to communicate.