it is the season that does best
what we are so reluctant to conceive
fullest in fading, a beauty
that bursts into brittle
we fight so its calling, mirroring in action
a return to childish hope
a promise of fertile renewal, yet
she bleeds ripe
in her willingness to die, giving way to auburn
giving way to falling
and in so shines more radiant
then the common - as we struggle with her limbs
with her cadance towards a stillness
oh, to love dying
as she -
to pull the sun to light its eternal face
how can we know this? standing i can ask
only myself this of autumn - as all are lost within her dying beauty
not seeing their own...
bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011
nice...the irony of this season is the brilliance in death..you spin well on this in your verse...not seeing their own is a great close....
ReplyDeleteI liked this so much. It is now. There is an urgenticy of autumn. For tomorrow we will die... autumn is my favorite season, and now it is really here!
ReplyDeleteA wonderous flow of words and thought.
ReplyDeleteIt is "a beauty that bursts into brittle".
fall has always been a motif of my writing. i like this a lot. my English teacher would cringe at such a description- ending with a lot. but what can is say? u cant see me holding up my hands like goal posts to measure the distance of how much i like this...so ill just go with: a lot.
ReplyDeleteUnutterably beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYes, winter is coming. Nicely written.
ReplyDeleteand in so shines more radiant then the common - as we struggle with her limbs with her cadance towards a stillness...
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! A new favorite!
Love the ironies she carries forth. Beauty, grace, art... until this death parts the days with its purging.
ReplyDelete