I’ve tried many times to classify this poem – attempting to categorize it with the rest of my poetry. Yet, every time that I read it back to myself I know that it is not a love poem, nor is it a poem about self discovery. It is not about heartache, loneliness, happiness or triumph. I certainly couldn’t catalogue it with my poems about overcoming obstacles, breaking free or even falling backwards.
To this day, I still cannot place where this poem should fit into my archives. I’ve never written anything quite like it. It really does belong to its own category. Even more interesting is that every time I read this poem it takes on a different meaning for me. A lot of my poetry holds the original meaning that it had when I wrote it. I feel like my poems are little snapshots of my own personal life, and each poem represents a minute moment from my life story.
This poem, however, is different. I can’t sit here and tell you what it means to me because I don’t think that I’ve quite discovered its full meaning yet. All I can do is offer this poem to you, and leave it to your interpretation. After all, no matter what kind of light I painted this poem in, you would still be prone to your own interpretation and reading of it. Nothing I say or don’t say can change that.
So, I guess I’m hoping that you’ll find some meaning between my words here, because I’m still trying to understand just what it is I was saying.
A Poem by William Louison
The air is cold and a subtle leaf finds a home
On the ground that once felt so close
But to our aging eyes is now
Much too far away
The leaf will die
The wind is saying as it
Carries the leaf to a more suitable
But this is the way of all things
For the way of all things is life and death
There may be many roads to travel
But they all lead to the same final destination
Thank you for reading!