Some poems

There's something about a walk in the fall

There's something about a walk in the fall.

It makes today feel easy. Takes enough away to just be on

A carefree trip through the wind that prickles at

my face with just a little bite. My nose and cheeks turn pink.

It's a very pretty day. I looked straight ahead and found a window.

Words you were saying to me, rushed at my ears, and bounced back to yours.

If you can bring your eyes to look past the glass, you see outside the window.

Your notebook sits untouched in front of you, mine seems much too full.

When you keep looking up, you can see the sky behind all of the old buildings,

in all its lonely glory. The color blue is easy to miss in a world full of grey and silver,

The cars rush past the flower pots outside, muddling their warm pinks with metallic cold.

The blue doesn't know how to be louder at screaming its name, doesn't know how

To make itself seen. you tend to forget the sky is even there. I sometimes feel like the sky.

The trees sway against the sky, the wind flicking branches around like a game.

A game that nobody knows the rules to, but the trees. Rules I spent my life living.

The wind is really cold. My arms are bare, even though I have a sweatshirt around my waist.

What good is a sweatshirt, when your shaking can't be stopped by its warmth.

There are leaves in front of my feet, crunching under the heavy weight of my boots.

What would it be like to fly on the wind like a leaf? Light, carried away by a breeze.

Escaping from under the trap of a boot too heavy to move any other way.

Where would it take you. Where would you go?

Could you travel far enough away, maybe somewhere better than here?

Take me away from here, take me somewhere I've never been before.

Take me somewhere I want to be, somewhere I need to get to.

Maybe like the french cafe in that song I used to like.

I haven't listened to that song since he used to listen to me.

An old french cafe, full of history and character, the smell of coffee and sweets.

Vines reaching up the walls, stretching fingers to the sky that nobody can quite reach.

The air here smells too bland. I can't feel the sweetness that's here in the spring.

The closer we walk back to the world of too much to do, the nicer the cold air feels on my face.

The more I never want to go back there. It would feel much better to stay right here,

Where my head doesn't feel like cotton, and my hands have finally stopped their shaking.

There's something amazing about a walk in the fall.

I picked a title!

It's supposed to be formatted differently, but I can't change the format to what it's supposed to be.