Crisp.

The smell of fresh leaves,
the crisp sound of crushing old ones.
The mist in the air,
as it melts on my skin.

Its a routine we do,
Its ours till the end.
Its a feeling we make,
Its for us to live within.

Walking with a heavy head,
and sometimes light as air,
What is it that is wanted from us?
or from you? or from me?

Just silence and a little pain,
just noise and some joy.
A gulp and a breath,
to keep walking on.

Is it that's all there?
Is there more we're yet to see.
It seems a never-ending road,
or one that's just begun instead.

Haze in my head,
Dewy - my heart,
Quite - my mind,
They say its the perfect moment to pray.