Gold-plated Leaves

Autumn is the season of colourful foliage and chilly weather but I think most of all it is nature’s greatest metaphor. Though leaves shall soon die and be crushed under foot, they nonetheless hold on to their array of shades and hues, until they can no longer just as we should in our most trying times.


Like autumn leaves, my thoughts

are stripped of their connect

to centrality, as a branch rots

without foliage, my mind suffers 

the same disconcertion, clots

with terrible, terrible loss.

These thoughts are left to fend,

feed and suffocate like gold-plated

leaves left to die, trying to mend

in a pile of crumbled dust. The gold

withers and then comes the end,

with it there is finality. No more, no less.


2 thoughts on “Gold-plated Leaves”

  1. This post inspired the following (spontaneous) poem, especially as Fall is my favorite season…and the smell of dried leaves is a favorite smell:

    Flashing gold and red
    The wind picks the dead bounty from the season’s growth
    and scatters it over the ground below
    Once green
    these reminders of the season cycle
    Metaphors of life
    The dry leaves decay into the detritus of the forest floor
    returning their borrowed nutrients to Mother Earth
    We see them cartwheel through the park
    Occasionally stopping
    before racing off with the next burst of brisk Fall air
    They fade from our memory
    as thoughts turns to the approaching Winter
    Branch skeletons lie forgotten under the first snow
    Only to be celebrated again
    when they appear again
    perched high, Green
    Waiting to harvested by the next Fall wind

    1. I enjoyed reading your poem, it makes me feel nostalgic of those days when I’d go to Gatineau Park to see the beautiful autumn foliage 🙂 Thank you for commenting and glad my post could be of some inspiration!

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