Clothed in Fallen Leaves (poem)

Clothed in fallen leaves,

cloaked in autumn darkness,

I stand on the river's rocky edge

as I did as a joyful child.

Like an assassin he approaches,

a bright florescent light splitting the dark sea,

but I keep my back to him,

his presence already making me sick.

“Why don't you turn to me, brother?

Afraid of what the light will reveal?

Let me be your new prophet,

my message hard but terrifyingly true.”

“Beware of false prophets,” I reply,

“wolves in sheep's clothing,

devils clothed in light,

know them by their fruit.”

“I am not here to destroy you,

just to show you the light,

so you can cast away these delusions

and accept the truth,” he claims.

I turn to face him,

his light pale and sickly,

artificial and cold,

as if the heat had been drained from it.

“See? Isn't it better?

I don't understand your constant defiance,

but I forgive you,” he says,

his arms outstretched to me.

“Tell me your prophesy then, brother.

I want to hear it,” I say,

feeling my life fading away,

being devoured by the wolf's jaws.

“You are a demon, a devil,

all that you touch will die,

so it is best to be alone,

and save others from yourself.”

He smiles as I step towards him

and wave my hand before his face.

His face ignites in orange-red flames, burns away,

revealing his true identity, me.

I turn and return to the river's shore.

“Your fruit consists of fear and doubt,

agony, misery, and hopelessness,

of helplessness against my demons.”

“You are a false prophet.”

-Zero