Until Leaves

I see the gripes coming like silver whistles
Battling the flickering mist
Gene pools of aggravations, placards
Of grand flame
Until leaves planet the floor of nothing.

We cry like gulls on tragic garbage piles
Irritants to the sky and wheels
Subservient to tears unshed
With raised fists of mourning
And grief in the shadowed step
Towards glass.

9-00