Homeless

A leaf.

Adrift

On the oceans

Of breeze

And gust

Flecked with the

Brine and foam

Of icy winter,

I allow myself to

Be swept in inane

Circles of repetition.

I am already dead,

Merely waiting to

Decompose--so why

Not waste

This time I do not have?

I will inevitably be raked

Into a pile with all the others

Who are desiccated and brittle,

A mass grave to be burned

To appease the seasons.

Without my sustenance,

My branch,

My anchor,

I am fragile and disintegrating

In winter's icy fist.

 

Author's Note

Sorry I haven't been reviewing--but say whatcha think.

Reviews

[FJ Davis]

Is both an effective metaphor and dramatic anthropomorphized seasonal statement.
Very fine work, Ben.

[Larry Dyson]

not sure when it was penned ,I was looking to review somethings on the Irene storm and saw this...thinking of the seaweed and other flotsam that will be piled on the beaches...to decay and then be burned when the witer wind begins to blow...actually in that veine it is quite good and analyges of the ocen and beach in winter time..good expressive write.