It detaches.
The thing holding onto it, shivers causing it to slowly fall
The world is a Venus, and I'm trapped in its beauty
It lands, its orange and red pigment standing out against the brown dirt.
Perhaps it's a curse
How could I be so enamoured by something dead and the thing it came from?
I stand, never moving.
I fear moving will make more fall, so I do not breathe.
The wind grows cold and the stars change
The leaf shrivels and the trees are deranged.
They stand above their fallen child.
Replacing it slowly as if...it was natural.
I am the trunk, doomed to watch the fall, but blessed to see the beauty in death.

-By EvAnders0n