May 09, 2006
The orange maple leaves flutter in the wind
Signalling, announcing, floundering.
The season of death, everlasting.
A lonely figure traverses the mountain slopes
In search of his soul and humanity lost.
He fights his way onward, climbs and gropes
Lost in the darkness, entombed in frost.
Will past mistakes return to haunt?
Is love truly gone?
Only he dost know, or does he know not?
Perhaps he is tying himself dead knots.
Soon, autumn will leave and winter come
Perhaps only then will it be done.
His life, his dreams all come to halt
And maybe in the end he'll say
'It was all my fault'.
Traveller fell apart at 10:46 PM