The Quiet Bench In Fall

I sit upon this wooden bench, so still

The Autumn air is crisp and chill.

The Leaves drift down in hues of flames,

A fleeting dance, no two the same.

The trees stand bare, their branches wide,

Their whispers are soft, as winds collide.

The world hums on, a hurries stream,

But here I linger, lost in a dream.

I do not speak; there’s no demand, 

For silence holds me by the hand.

The crunch of leaves beneath my feet,

A quiet song, both calm and sweet.

The sun hangs low, the shadows long,

The air turns sharp, the winds grow strong.

But I still sit, my spirit clear, 

A steady force in this fading year.

The amber glow, the fading skies,

Reflect the calm within my eyes.

I sell myself with quite grace,

No need for haste, no need to chase

Though anger stirs, it does not flare,

It lives in silence, waiting there.

A storm subdued, its weight contained,

Like clouds that hold but won’t complain

The Autumn breeze can strip and tear,

Yet here I sit, I do not care. 

For fall remains, as leaves descend,

That all must change, and all must end.

But endings bring beginnings near,

And fall is both decay and cheer.

So, let the leaves drift where they may,

This bench, my anchor, keeps me stayed.

The chaos comes, the chaos goes,

But quite strength is what I chose.

For fall is fleeting, loud and vast.

Yet silence lingers, built to last.