As I look upon the sky,
I felt the wind touches my skin.
My eyes reflects the sun,
The gloominess it schemes.
As I stare at it's brightness,
I felt my eyes stinging,
It's quiet painful yet resonating.
The wind the breezes up and chills my skin,
The season of fall the whispers ending,
the dried up leaves, that when stepped on cries crunches on it,
The ticking clock I have on my grave.
It was quiet upholding for all the flashbacking memories I have,
It's like death is knocking up,
In the midst of the sun,
In the middle of the leaves,
Under the maple trees,
I lost my soul and holds my grief,
I lost my life, I lost my flee.
Just like how the leaves falls endlessly,
and leaves the tree.
