The Fall

At the top of the world, leaves would ripple like fresh clothes drying in the wind

But there, the air is
Clean

Down in the rugged earth I stand where
Everything is in between

Fine moments of passing beauty and
Giant mountains of defeat
Highlighting the failure of romance

I am

Just a stretch away from
Knowing, but too afraid to
Leave the world behind

My bags are always packed but
Never are my contents inside

On the foothills I stand
Packing dirt as my soles grind
Quietly into the Earth

Reminding me that the mountain rises
Steeply
Too looming to take me
Under its cliffs, and so its peak denies my
View

What a telling future
eXpressed in the setting

Your sun, my declining
Zenith

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