The Cynical One

The trees leaves rustle in the wind.

Their boughs bend with the wind.

Now a lone leaf torn from a tree lands at my feet.

Trapped in a world of insanity.

Endless noise, screaming in my head.

One's mind freezes up, with the unending stream of it.

Even the sunshine seems grey.

Leaves drop as if another person's humanity has been stripped away. How did it come to this?

No science fiction apocalypse this. Just another hollow form.

Windows tinted, day and night perpetual dusk,

Green is gray and warmth is not let in.

The crickets chirp;

Evenings come sooner,

The grasses begin to turn brown while summer's flowers fade and fall's flowers buds swell.

The air smells and feels different.

The crows caw and birds sing.

But who hears them other than I?

The Road rushes by, but I...