Fallen 

The wind has swept the leaves under the branches,
with tattered clothes tucked out of sight,
bare skeletons extend skywards,
held up on cruel display,
their emptiness now obvious
The school children shout in the distance
like they’ve noticed it too,
that the things which have fallen
will reincarnate by consuming their own carbon
The school children are now laughing
I wonder if they know
that the dead are never really dead,
that all those things which will fall
will be incorporated in the roots of a new thing
until all is pink and blooming

By Kelly Collins

Biography:

I am a young artist/writer. I struggle with bipolar disorder which is a great curse and occasionally a great gift. I work primarily with paintings and poetry and I live in Bend, Oregon.