825. Untitled
There's a fatigue that sets in --
a slow coldness
that dampens the moment
and leaves the world
dreary and gray.
There's a futility that suffuses the air,
as if drawing in the warmth of autumn
and leaving only
an empty shell
devoid of importance.
There's a faint recognition
of patterns drawn
by fallen leaves
only to be picked up
and swirled away
in the coming cold.