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Dead leaves hang like dead skin, – Promote Yourself


Dead leaves hang like dead skin, 

Lifeless and crippled. 

Bodies swaying in the wind 

Skin so brittle. 

Once vibrant green leaves 

Smothered by a rusty color. 

Bodies weakened by disease, 

Distorted out of structure. 

Clinging to those whore doing fine, 

Circumstance far from parallel, 

Forced to look on with broken spine 

Floating in the air but in a cell. 

That is Purgatory; the place between life and death. 

Trapped in the world, undead and dull as death.

Marcus Medford

Marcus Roi, Toronto Canada
Poet, philosopher, journalist, spirit-warrior.
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