The whispering of fallen leaves

 

I have no name for whatever this is
when I hear the whispering of fallen leaves
asking for more than I have to give
with days the color by thousand year old clouds
how I long for so much more
than just the open road

There is a fine line between sanity and the pyre
we are all a little bit crazy
and yearn to light the fire inside
to feel the warmth of our souls set ablaze
an interlude and wistful dream
that lasts until a child cries in sleep