The Fallen

Bones of leaves crunching, crunching under my feet;
the smell of fall being of their sweet decay.
Covered, for miles, as far as the eye can see,
with the rainbow of bodies as sun meets day.
-
Some pile them all up, then throw them all away;
some kick them out of the way to forge a path.
Others walk right by, and look the other way,
moving on; they trample through said aftermath.
-
Look up to see just where they have fallen from;
silver knives slicing skies, chasing those spirits,
as if bony fingers were clawing upward--
empty arms flailing and frantically twisted.