Autumn Deaths

I walk in the dying landscape; 
Where Autumn has taken the leaves.
And those left, hang curled and crisp, 
Waiting for the wind’s endgame.
I walk the lanes of these later days.
When ramblers have called time 
On their walking-year.
The lanes are mine.
I rule them with my boots.
I rule them with fierce strides,
Which conquer each crossed yard.

But sugared memories 
Glut my striding mind.
Even days just gone 
Are dressed in sentiment.
All my yesterdays are painted in garish colours.
In these late days, not all the leaves are dead-fallen.
Some still hang onto branches grown too familiar.
Slow-death remembrance grows into old flesh -
So not to deny its last goodbye.
Leaves hold on till Dear Me blows its killing breath 
To get rid of the nonsense
That's still refusing at the mind’s drain.
One final flush into pure nothingness.
Yet the leaves still cry No! to their own extinction.