poetry

Keeping with Wallace Steven's structure and theme of beauty in the barren winter of life, I find myself contemplating the transitions in life; the autumns of life - not quite summer, not quite fall, and never permanent.
One must have a mind of autumn To regard trembling aspen memories Of honey gold leaves quaking in the wind whisped path; And have lived many times in between seasons To behold the fleeting and ever passing illustrious fire colors, The wilting land in the September sun Of the shifting winds; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wavering breeze In the sound of those last dangling memories Which is the sound of the living Full of reverence of the dying That is blowing us through one season into the next For the listener, who listens to the inevitable  October air, And, beholds everything, beholds Everything that is not there and everything that is.

South

constellations of sorrow true northern stars lifetimes of faith in dark amber nights glittering skylines peripheral lights fall through glimmers of smoke upon charcoal skylines eternal words breath exhale those long sighs heartbeat of worlds a cadence of time  follow your heart regrets long gone temporary reminders mourning dawns

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