An open Autumn Day


33

Autumn leaves lie strewn in October
With the hopes of childhood’s day
That are now so faded and decayed
Happy moments fled, do they come again?
Forgotten, changed or dead –?

All over the gardens shrink
Memories impress with their wild colors
Birds sing with buried scents under wings
Honey is made, above where children play
Autumn leaves lie strew in October

Corn, watermelons and pumpkin pie
The fruit must be kept for another day
Autumn is the season where I cannot forget
What came in Spring and blossomed in Summer
Autumn is the secret I can never tell –

With the hopes of dreams treasured beyond all
The dark of the gentle winds that blew
Behind Autumn rain, a new world breaks forth.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/autumn-328739751

Thou Hast Made Me


32

Thou hast made me, a holy poet
What is this work, to observe and not despair?
And all these pleasures are mere words
Of yesterday, dim eyes any way
Of visions that run to death, from self to self –

But I rise again, in new forms
With poems that can myself sustain
Like breath and proven art
Thou has made me, a grand imitator
Of names in history, of verse

That contributes repair, spiritual repair
Repair me then, my little words, until
My end doth haste and in terror of feeble flesh
I must part, saying goodbye to all I was –
What is this work, to entertain and listen

Listing all that is below, without knowing
What is above, or how adamant drew my own heart
These are not holy sonnets, but all titles I must resign
Even being published, only a loose
Temple of my spirit divine, ravished in thy sight

For all paths that do converge I have found
Are found in uniting words, language pure
That I might in holy discontent simplify
For all coming ills have been pre-ordained
Though hast me thus, a poet at last
Alive at least in my own idol-making sympathy.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Peace-402773282