“leave falling”

a dead trees leaves
do not fall free.
the dead ones
like to linger.
season beyond season.
year beyond year.

living leaves fall.
green, red, yellow,
and brown.

dead leaves cling
to their corpse,
folding in
on
themselves;
frozen in
rigor mortis.
a dead tree's leaves
do not fall free
waiting for a fire,
for an ax,
or for more time
to finish the act.

leaves of the living
float down graceful
one by one.
not by clumps.
not by limbs.
i suppose
it just goes to show
that the living know
when a time has come
to let go.
and the dead do not,
leaving us
before their time.

it's sad seeing them
suspended,
caught in their falling.
i wish i had a match,
but they've all burnt
out.

narrative poem written on 07-28-2014 by: on mattkane.com
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