© 2018 by Medicinal Poetry

 

~ Falling

 

the depths of the Fall.

Some leaves still green,

some brown,

some a radiant red,

defying death for a moment

of blazing, illustrious relishment

before succumbing to the inevitable insensitivity

 

of time to beauty.

The long nights 

punctuated by bright crescent moon

and crisp air,

and the inexorable charging

towards release into darkness.

We can never accomplish

all that we hope

in a season, a year,

a life.

That is the nature of the meeting

of our cyclical universe

with the linearity of desire.

Flow exists because of ebb.

And letting go is the art of a lifetime;

though incremental, increasingly essential the longer we live.

 

So we fall.

 

like finally dried leaves,

still damp with the memory

of a Spring seemingly barely gone.

We wrap our uncertainty and impermanence around us

like so much wool.

Somehow surprised, again, 

that not even Summer lasts forever.

And the height of bright days’ blossoming

returns, in time,

both from and to

the depths of Autumn’s falling.

 

 

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