Path of Leaves

I walk on a path of leaves,   a path lined with trees withered. The airs of self-image drift into the breeze,   leading softly into a storm weathered.

In a world devoid of black and white,   autumn grey makes for ironic sense. Behind, ahead; comparisons bite,   poisoned with debilitating innocence.

I walk on a path of leaves,   Beneath me they cackle with laughter.