as the leaves turn to every color known to man
trying to avoid the stark naked branches
beneath all the posturing but no use
as the cold drops our clothes
until we have none but
the skin we have
abused by
too well
and looking
to praise ourselves
in the mirror since no one
else will, who cares, why bother
we all know eachothers sins too well
and hubris for they are all written down
on the same ticket to hell on the express
train we are riding on into the well of darkness
where only the light of our souls will show us the
way up and out of eternity without grace about face

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