Reason

Like a windswept leaf

battered, torn

yellowed, forgotten

and tries

no more

to claim its perch.

what was home

is like an address, unknown..

That,

which is right in front of us,

seemingly alluring

yet alluding

like an apparition crafted in the darks

how grey is the divide between

pristine white and black so stark..

Seeking,

chasing,

waiting,

relating,

dwindling hope

or a rush of blizzard, the threat of storms

the deviousness of the signs

why do i look out in search

for something that is not mine?

Retrace,

Rephrase,

Replay all those words

some unsaid, some carved out fine

and what are those now..

a mistake in time?

if things are simple

as they're meant to be,

someday, somewhere,

he will be able to see...