The Fall

The less he listened, the more he heard,
The more he knew, the less he cared,
Every day he looked away,
And then looked back, scared.
He walked fast to stay ahead
Of what was not very far behind,
Walked faster, knowing well enough,
That he didn't know what to find.
The faster he walked, the less he saw
Through the mist in his eyes, a formless blur
In the bleak, grey distance for miles ahead -
The mist held little to walk toward.

Burning hopes and tired thoughts, they impermanently stray -
Wizened brown leaves traipsing the fickle wave of the wind,
Falling with grace... from grace, bidding slow goodbye to the Fall,
Uncertain - unbelieving that Spring would change anything at all.