The dawn chill of autumn,
Causing fog at the mouth when we speak
–
The pale sliver of sunlight,
Turning the spider webs to crystal dream-catchers
–
The amber hay bales in the fields,
Surrounded by a halo of hovering particles
–
The corn drying on the stalks, crisp and crunchy,
Forming a maze for children’s games
–
The old barns on the hills, chipped and decrepit,
Like the haunted houses in campfire tales
–
The goldenrod, dancing in the wind,
Holding their blonde heads high in the meadow
–
The heavy mist in the valley
Swirling ‘round trees once gay green, now elegant orange
–
There is so much life, and yet beneath the surface
The sting of death threatens
–
The bite in the air suggests it,
Piercing clothing to make one shiver
–
There is a stillness settling over the earth
Like the first and last day of creation
–
The birds’ songs are softer
Like Elfin lays lamenting a fading glory
–
The color of the leaves is bursting bright
But will soon turn to blood, wither, and fall
–
The moments seem to crawl by
Like the spread of frost across a window pane
–
The nights come suddenly, like a thief
Without the summer sun to ward them off
–
They are heavier now
Like the winter blankets taken from attic chests
–
My soul is burdened
By an awareness of aloneness
–
As empty as a jack-o-lantern
With a nightmarish expression of despair
–
As hollow as the eye-sockets
Of a moldering skull
–
As meaningless as the echo
Of cawing crows flying over the pumpkin clusters
–
I long for fire instead of ice
For understanding instead of confusion
–
For the embrace of loved ones long gone
Instead of my own arms braced against the cold
–
But most of all, I long for God
–
To ask to feel the presence of Him
Is a thing that is known to wound
–
Agony comes with ecstasy
Even for the saints, among whom I hold no place
–
Brilliance is blinding and searing
When it pierces the smothering blackness
–
But I would take it, nonetheless
–
Sink me into fire, plunge me into ice,
But do not let me wander alone in shadows
–
Let us have a place all to ourselves
Where I can lay my head on Your breast
–
Where I may hear your voice whispering
Out of the gentle breeze, no longer chilling
–
Let us be lover and beloved in the depth of the night
And let not my own self separate us
–
For You are the Love of Loves
The delight of all things, the breath of life
–
Let me at least tend the wounds
That I caused you to receive, as a handmaid
–
Let me feel the peace that comes with fullness
For an instant, to light the winter’s dark
–
Be the flame of autumn in this changing, chilling world
And in my trembling heart
–
It is all I need
“There is so much life, and yet beneath the surface, the sting of death threatens.”
The Flame of Autumn showed it all so perfectly: the loneliness of the waning year, the solemn reminder that all mortal things are doomed to die, and the final hope that is found by the dawning of an Everlasting Spring.
“There is so much life, and yet beneath the surface, the sting of death threatens.”
The Flame of Autumn showed it all so perfectly: the loneliness of the waning year, the solemn reminder that all mortal things are doomed to die, and the final hope that is found by the dawning of an Everlasting Spring.
Hi, Anna Maria!
Thanks so much for stopping by and commenting!
I’m so glad you liked the poem! The seasons are always a major inspiration for spiritual allegories, and fall always has had something of a melancholy overtone for me. I suppose I’d call it bitter-sweet, as you say, realizing that mortality is passing, and yet holding out hope for the everlasting world to come…
I really hope you can join us sometime as a staff and/or guest writer! I know I’ve invited you just recently and you said you were a bit busy at this time, but if you could ever toss in a piece at some time at the future, we’d love to have you!
Blessings,
Avellina
Hi, Anna Maria!
Thanks so much for stopping by and commenting!
I’m so glad you liked the poem! The seasons are always a major inspiration for spiritual allegories, and fall always has had something of a melancholy overtone for me. I suppose I’d call it bitter-sweet, as you say, realizing that mortality is passing, and yet holding out hope for the everlasting world to come…
I really hope you can join us sometime as a staff and/or guest writer! I know I’ve invited you just recently and you said you were a bit busy at this time, but if you could ever toss in a piece at some time at the future, we’d love to have you!
Blessings,
Avellina
Avellina,
Thank you very much for the invitation!
Anna Maria
Avellina,
Thank you very much for the invitation!
Anna Maria
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Love it! 🙂
Love it! 🙂
Liked the mag, thanks for sharing!
Liked the mag, thanks for sharing!
The conscience is the voice of God, to listen is Autumn, it will cause all the trees of knowledge to wither and cause a winter hibernation to tend the wounds conscience knowledge brings, the conscience promises a new spring of beauty and energy, yet for now it must wound for we have been led astray, one day we will love with our conscience. Nice thought journey you took me on, thank you.
The conscience is the voice of God, to listen is Autumn, it will cause all the trees of knowledge to wither and cause a winter hibernation to tend the wounds conscience knowledge brings, the conscience promises a new spring of beauty and energy, yet for now it must wound for we have been led astray, one day we will love with our conscience. Nice thought journey you took me on, thank you.
Impressive, seriously. Makes one feel like Autumn came and to go through all these variety of feelings and emotions. It caught my mind and I couldn’t let it go until I’d read it up to the end.
Good!
Impressive, seriously. Makes one feel like Autumn came and to go through all these variety of feelings and emotions. It caught my mind and I couldn’t let it go until I’d read it up to the end.
Good!
This very beautiful poem is reaching inside my heart. I really like it.
This very beautiful poem is reaching inside my heart. I really like it.