With contempt for the shackles of the present,
This nostalgic dream, has put my reason to rest.
And hope, the warm sun and blue sky,
Shine, on the fallen leaves that I tread.
And in these rotting colors all I see,
Is a life of ambiguity.
Dead leaves fall upon the darkest of my memories,
Till the truth is lost and buried, down beneath an autumn sea.
Am I alive just to dream,
Of lies and futility?
Do these dead leaves,
Soften the path beneath my feet?
Or simply delude me,
From the earth underneath?
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