Tanka: winter leaves

Once green and verdant,
winter leaves sit and decay
methodically
on mud-caked concrete, gazing
up at their former glory

Valor

Valor is
a false king
on a crimson throne.

The suburbs
a continually cracking
edifice to an illusion

Borders
ink lines on paper
at the drafter’s desk
the pen as potent
as the eraser

Beyond knee-high grass
onward to the Laughing Tree
dancing with joyful
autumn colors, ablaze, even
though few ever came to watch

I do not know when it will end,
but history has given me the hint
the where will be the beginning