the trees weep

a short poem

The trees weep,
From a dreamlike state of insomnia,
The surreal fall morning.
Everything’s dead or dying,
Like the embers of a campfire.
The cold air of my apartment,
[we try to save money]
Dances on my face,
Awakening my cold receptors.
The muted roar of the water heater,
Awakens my ears.
The slimy egg noodles,
Slithering their way down my throat.
And I see emptiness
Replace what was once there
In my life.
Like a child waiting
For a Christmas,
That has since passed him by.