Walking Home

I tread the fallen leaves

With a weight pressed to my lips;

The silence only broken

By the breakage ‘neath my feet.

I stare solemn and straight

Down this avenue filled with dying branches

And feel as If I was a trespasser

In a graveyard of my own hopes—

As if not invited, nor permitted

To partake in my own sorrow.

So,

Emotionless I go

Down these stone-cold straits,

The wreckage around me acknowledged

Only in indifference.