Lonesome Cyclone
by, Max Booth III
Crazy
are the purple leaves
caught in their whirlwind
through the forest
too silent to ever be
considered
peaceful.
Insane
are the ways
the branches break
screaming their
inaudible screams;
daylight sufferers,
moonlight dreamers,
Poetic thinkers,
and lost believers,
collected as one
frosted breath
on the binge
of total chaos.
Discouraged,
tho’ determined.
Bullets
in the shape of paranoia
and desolation,
puncturing flesh
in one quick gasp
that lasts forever,
for good or bad,
the leaves refuse to rest.
