The Age of Bloodied Leaves

The Age of Bloodied Leaves

I see leaves

Fluttering about like soft, white feathers

This is my favorite time of year

And yet it also fills me with melancholy

For the trees give up their children to the soft earth

Just as Mary watched her child's decay from the heavens.

Though trees do not feel loss,

Nor pride, nor feel the weight of sacrifice

They only feel the force of gravity

Forever tugging upon their branches

Such as a child who tugs on the sleeve of their mother

Or the yellow void of quicksand

Perhaps I dream too much

Try to connect acts of nature within one another's likeness

Though I'm sure trees care not that I categorize them

No more than a physician should care for newly discovered Assyrian texts

The trees care not for much at all,

Spare summer rains and black earth

I speak not of seeds however

For perhaps a seed feels the smallest tinge of hopelessness,

Of uncertainty or fear

As it falls to Earth, plucked freshly, plucked prematurely

But the trees care not

For they know nothing of decay beneath their roots

Author's Note

Just trying out this community. This is one of my lesser pieces. If this goes well, I may upload more. Share some love if you feel my writing deserves it. Comments and suggestions are welcome.

Reviews

[Patricia Stephmore]

Ohh! Do write more! I'd like to read your work....
A poem very well written

[H.L. Cerveise]

Yes, please upload more. I really like this poem.