Existence Lost, a sonnet.

Green to orange and brown; and death becomes beauty.
The health of entropy in life; growth in death.
Dying before my time seems to be my duty
and to rest my soul during my life becomes breathe.
A leaf that blooms, and shines, and clings to its branches
has the colors of deceit, unseen to the world.
The ground upon the roots of these trees advances,
and the lies of inconsequence are gladly told.
How a brief existence holds the ring of sadness?
But in this slight existence lies a true meaning;
the wind that blows through the trees creates a fullness;
and with the falling leaves, death brings life and uprising.
All things are complete in the brokenness of one.
And all things made new and meaningful when it's done.



by: Andrew t.



currently listening to "Brother, Sister" by mewithoutYou. http://www.mewithoutyou.com/