Wall
This year has presented itself like a wall On which to hit my head repeatedly Until I start to see differently Until I hear a different frequency For the music of the falling leaves Paying tribute through their death To the falling winter. Their dance started in sweetness Only to turn into an angry small tornado Trying to clean the streets of settling dust Which makes it so hard to swallow the present. Luckily blue bird and jays still sing the same Youthful song and want to be heard Through summer and winter Thus letting their joy flow through the cracks Like light breaking the soul free From its newly acknowledged prison