For Me?

Could the leaves not fall for me?

To tread upon in chill November,

Scenting the world with sweet decay.

Could the skies not cry for me?

Their steady tears, an orchestra;

Their moans and wails, a lullaby.

Could the grass not grow for me?

Fields of friendly waving hands

Whispering hello to remind me I'm not alone.

Could the petals not wilt for me?

Painting scenes in muted and melancholy colors

For my viewing pleasure.

 

Is it possible that this sweet, ripe fruit

was made solely for my tasting?

When the world ends

is it my darkness that fills it's void?

Could it be that when

the earth’s breast, at last, heaves it's final breath,

That it is merely mimicking my own?

Could the world exist only because

I do?