The faces in the pumpkins

He finds his leaf, he finds his fame,

In the spotlight, he is arranged.

Or so he was when this first began,

But now it's too much 

So in private, he stands.

He stands with himself, 

Pondering what might be

If he was still alone

with the auburn, orange trees.

He requires his safe place,

a patch full of pumpkins,

the smell of  crisp and clean, 

with a touch of dust and dew,

he appreciates the quiet,

the rustling of leaves, 

the whooshing of the wind,

he finds himself at peace.

Perhaps in the beginning, 

all he wanted was to be enough

for the people in his life who claimed that he was not enough

but sitting with himself

in his favorite of places

he finds that all he really needs is the kindness of his own faces.

The faces in the pumpkins.