these leaves are alive

i am afraid of becoming like the leaves that fall to the ground in autumn,
brown and decaying and no longer beautiful or alive but still creating, no longer looked at or needed but
as i look more closely at the leaves on the floor
i see that they are host to lives of their own, lives which are sustained simply in their deaths, in their
undoing and in this undoing they are doing, perhaps
more than they ever did while alive, i
i consider the sacrifice they had no choice in making but i, i do
do i choose
to lay down what i want on the alter of death and watch God birth it into
life?
i am not afraid anymore.