A Leaf on the Wind

A Leaf on the Wind

By Brandon Palzkill

A leaf plucked from the autumn tree

Tumbling downward

Twirling, swirling

Spiraling toward the grassy floor

The only place it wants to be

It reaches out to the ground

Gripping a lush green blade

And nestles itself

Amongst the grass

To spend the rest of its days

Lazing beneath the sun

In blissful tranquility.

The Ghost in the Graveyard

The Ghost in the Graveyard

By Brandon Palzkill

A chill breeze glides over

the standing stones,

howling; wailing.

Wandering through the waving grass,

her vaporous steps

offer no further disturbance

to the brittle blades,

while marble lanterns,

planted beneath the soil,

cast the pale, waning moonlight

throughout the surrounding

courtyard,

lighting her path,

as she travels on her way.

But what is her path?

She knows not;

knows nothing of herself

and nothing

of the journey which carries her

onward.

She is but a lost child,

alone in a crowded room;

a directionless specter,

hoping the wind will take her

where she needs to be,

and getting nowhere.

Storm Season

Storm Season

By Brandon Palzkill

The day is changing;

charcoal clouds glide gracefully in,

as sudden chills blanket the ground;

a storm has swept over us…

the symphony is about to begin.

The percussion section starts it off;

rolling thunder, resounding; reverberating;

a pounding timpani to shake the earth.

And then a crash, the lightning’s flash;

a steely cymbal, stealing our breaths away.

Rain… the booming snare drum,

showering down in chaotic cadences ,

rapidly rat-a-tat-tating

at millions of beats per minute;

it raucously raps, ringing in our ears.

And, finally… the melody;

a hauntingly beautiful and primal chorus,

sung by the howling winds;

trees shiver with the raw power

of their voices; the leaves dance, wildly.

I, a captivated audience member,

quiver with terrified excitement.

I hear the echoing chorus through my walls,

the bass notes shaking my bones,

as my heartbeat flutters to the furious fugue.

Inevitably, the clouds will pass on

and the curtains will fall.

The conductor takes his final bow

and the orchestra packs up…

on to the next performance.