October

The way in which the 
dampened leaves 
stick to the bottom 
of my boot,
Reminds me of 
cadavers in the 
morgue. 

The way in which the
children hide away 
behind clever disguise,
Reminds me of 
the reality in all
humanity. 

The way in which the
breeze crisps in a whip
of fury against my back,
Reminds me of 
the loss of my
past.  

– B.