A Collection of Poems

Meaningless

There is a god who holds domain over the fallen leaves.

I wonder if he protects fallen people as well.

Souls flutter to the ground; light as feathers, warm as August.

They are the god of a dozen meaningless things.

They are the god of warm mugs in cold hands.

Warm hand s in warm hands.

Your hands in my hands.

Is that truly meaningless?

Maybe he is the god of you and me.

Beautiful things often have no meaning.

Stained glass panels, soft colour like fallen leaves.

Light as feathers, cold as rain.

Fresh and clean and you and me and us and him,

together.

There is a god of us, and he holds domain over the fallen leaves.