On the edge of happiness

I'm standing
At that moment
That comes before
Happiness
And I'm postponing it.

The Road ahead
Is adorned with
Yellow Fallen Leaves
By
The Divine.

The night is wintry
And I can feel the
Absence of snow
In the Yellow, Wet leaves
Lying
In my hand.

Happiness is elusive.
It hides
Behind of the branch of a tree
In the colour of a leaf
In the wintry night
That reminds me
Of snow.

There is rain in the air
As a moist, contingent
Feeling;
As if
Occupying
The quality of the air.

Tonight
I wish to make
No claims.
I wish
Not
To think.

Tonight
I want to make the cold
Touch me
And let it engulf me
So I can
Traverse the expanses
Of the Universe
To learn its secrets.

The cold is inviting
As if it wants me to
To be cold.

As if, by touching the cold,
I have access
To those Wet, Yellow Leaves
Whose beauty I can't
Hunt down
With words.

What can I have to say about these leaves
And how they lie
Quiet
On the cemented
Empty road?

It's mystic.
It makes me love the cold
And hate the
Unnaturalness
Of the heat
Inside my house.

This night,
Bathing in the light
Of the golden streetlamp
Embraced by Wet, Yellow Leaves
How shall I describe it?

I'm sure I have not caught it;
The perfect words
To describe
A perfect night.

There is that essence again.
The steady peacefulness of
The night.

A silent tree
Standing still
Waiting for the silent
Morning;
Its leaves
Half gone
Half consumed by the Winter Sun,
But this is not what I wanted to say...
I wanted to say how beautiful the tree looked
In that moment
Of movement
From Perfection
To Perfection.

The branches lead nowhere.
And I can see the sky
Beyond. Foggy. Not blue.

And before my hands
Stop moving
And start freezing
Because of the cold's touch,
Let me enter
Home
And embrace warmness
As the contingency of the rain
Turns into
Reality.

PS: A tribute to Robert Frost's Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening; If he had stopped to see the woods and not kept his promises.