fall

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    Our burning bush
    is just starting
    to singe around
    the edges.
    Before long
    without smoke
    or fire, the leaves
    will blaze brilliantly
    without burning up
    and fall to the earth.

    We talk about
    colors, yet name
    this season
    for the letting go,
    the breeze-ride
    down from life
    into death.

    How can it be
    so energizing
    to see what was
    once verdant
    and vibrant
    flame and die?

    I try to listen.
    I want to hear
    what the leaves
    are saying
    as they burn
    and fall.

    All I can do
    is go barefoot.

    Peace,
    Milton

    This poem was written in response to prompts at Abbey of the Arts and Writers’ Island.

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    10 COMMENTS

    1. Oh, how wonderful, Milton! I’ve always loved the autumn, and did find it ironic that I am energized by the endings that are happening around me. Well done!

      Peace,
      Hedwyg

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