Autumn's advent

Life assumes a form that is guided by beholder's outlook
For some it is a gregarious journey, filled with company
For others it is a lonesome trail without proper symphony
What is a garden of delight to some is someone else's agony

But no matter whether surrounded by friends or all alone
The final analysis is that life is truly only our own
We live in a world of our own creation, mind's confine
There friend and foe are created per our ego's design

We believe strongly that our life is defined by our relations
These could be with friends or family depending on our situation
Our identity is strongly tied to these nebulous strands of love
They are fragile and easily broken, yet with strength does endow

So to us it is imperative that these connections be sustained
Any opinion to the contrary is met with doubt and disdain
One who expresses a desire for solitude is not easily understood
He is viewed as a misanthrope, who is unable to show any gratitude

For does not society thrive on maintaining its network of relations?
Family and country are bound together by these mental creations
I think that attachments are good in early life, but not in latter
For death is a lonely dance, for which I cannot seek a willing partner

Thus I am consciously taking an inventory of my life's attachments
Not being afflicted by mid-life crisis, I am aware of its enchantments
So I am fulfilling my obligations one by one, stilling mind's torment
Thus becoming a leaf ready to fall from a tree at autumn's advent