Maturity

maturity

 

Weary arms reach upward

toward an overcast sky.

My mind wanders,

back to seasons

of glorious colors gone by.

Brittle and broken,

my branches now snap,

under a passerby’s foot.

I look down, around,

at the tender upstarts

eager to show me up

and touch the brightest star,

cocky in the straightness

of their green spines,

while mine points downward

to a spot where soon I might become

the smoldering ashes of a

camper’s fire.

Red, gold, orange leaves

blanket the ground

below me,

ready to catch me

when I

f

a

l

l.

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