A Poem-Type Thing
On blackened grass I sit, above my home.
Below me, scattered about my home lay as that of autumn leaves
yet their color that of parchment.
Vast leviathans approach
Their color comparable to the darkest of midnight
yet they bask in a glow.
Perhaps that is the color of man's heart.
Blackened, twisted arms reach towards the sky
never again to bask in the warm sun
But instead bask in the glow of a new one.
As I look down to find myself vanishing in the warmth
I only think of how fun it was, while it lasted.
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