Autumn Abstraction

Crunch.
Leaves under my feet
The most fragile sheets of rust;
Memories fallen to concrete
And turned to dust.

A scent to accompany the sound;
A scent that's sweet and calming
Only because it's rare.

Something still nags at me.
It tugs at the back of my mind
And the bottom of my stomach
Like a child's dirty fingers pulling at the hem
Of mother's skirt.

Only it's nothing like that.
The mud smears the same way,
But the act is far less endearing.

And still I wander
And listen
And breathe.
Silence punctuated by the crunch
Of fragile gold and rust and bloodshot sheets
Breaking.
Emptiness that smells like
Autumn dust.

And a contrasting chaos amidst it all;
A mind that wonders
Whether it should ever wonder,
And thoughts that leave no choice.

Amidst all the internal chaos,
The silence rings louder than gunshot.