Tag: writing

Autumn

A chill, damp, grey day
Empty picnic tables
In an empty park
Where all the leaves have fallen

What could say autumn more
With such spare beauty
And somber solitude?

I grew up in New England
Where the forests come alive
For just a while in October

The leaves turn colours
Unimaginable
Lighting mountainsides on fire

I wander through
Now empty halls
Of madness

Reflecting on
The inmate’s time here
Brings me sadness

In the darkness
I saw a light
And followed it

It lead to a window
Which would not open
And I could not see through

As much as I preferred
Being in the light
I returned to the darkness

Even a well-marked path
Offers options to explore

Side-trips provide
Opportunities for insight and growth

I just try to remember

Some windows allow the light in
But obscure its source

Not all doors can be opened
And it is unwise to walk through
Every door that does

No matter how softly
I tread through life
I leave footprints

I only hope
That when others come upon them
They see what I see

Something beautiful
Necessary
With good-natured purpose

Unlike the many monuments I have seen
The mountains and skyscrapers
All so grand and inspiring

I will be remembered
Not for the appearance I present
But for the shadow I cast

Ways of life, and
Ways of being
Have come and gone
Even in my lifetime

And many more
Will come and go
In the lifetime
Left to me

Sometimes I just like to sit back
And marvel at Nature’s sense of fun
Her playful way with shape and form
Her vivacious turns with landscape