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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.