downward spiral

Downward Spiral


The leaf fell easy from the tree landed gently
on other leaves bunched a bit and came to calm
rest on a carpet of memory of summer past.
But often a leaf is torn from its tree by impetuous
storm flung far away and dumped down in streets
of despair where the light has gone and only old
people live boarded up shops and faded plastic
roses forever stand on the sill in behind grimy,
tearstained windows. And as it turns from green
to curled up brown and parched, there is no
golden age; let it be known that the song it had
was of a half remembered lullaby that hummed of
hope of love that ended in life’s inequality and
the poetry of sadness.