Leaves fall like feathers, drifting gently down,
Why can’t we fall like that?
Why must we tumble clumsily like bowling pins do,
Embarrassing ourselves and hurting ourselves?
If we don’t fall like leaves, why do we heart-break like leaves
When they’re crunched under insensitive feet?
The sharp sound pierces the quiet, foggy autumn air,
But still goes unnoticed by most except those that are close…
And, why then, do we not absorb water like leaves?
Instead letting it slip from our eyes,
Raindrops falling from us instead of on us,
Just as uncontrollable as any storm.
Yet, we are as fragile as leaves,
The slightest winds that blow the wrong way,
May carry us to our doom easily,
Our stems, spines, bending to the will
Of even the weakest of elements.
We possess the worst qualities of leaves,
And leave the best, yet we still think of leaves
As a lower life form–rustling in the wind,
They’re laughing at us.