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Untitled (Seasons)

Soleilune

Cold fingers give way to cranial musing,
tapping the keys on a snow-encased night.
The mind succumbs to the need to analyze, to wonder;

...to define the space between life and death,
the bridges existing to complete gaps in the cycle of seasons...

(images swirling and dipping, infused within a mental whirlwind)

-the mind begins its backtrack by recalling the swish and crackle and
flameburst of fall-

In the space of a few sudden months,
the intrepid fire color leaf stippling turns to
timid, fearful earth brown.
The shells drained of chloraphyll plummet like lemmings from the
bare limbs of trees (exposed, nervous, naked) that scratch desperately at
the sky.

They beg for one more day of dream and belief, of sun and laughter, of the
sanctuary of personal raiment.

Then the relentless swirling winds of fate come
to capture shrivelled shells and create their magnetic attraction to the
ground.
Their listless rustling and tumbling sounds form
the final plea, the cry of consternation before
the sharp white chill of winter that
comes...
(it comes)
(it always comes)
...with its razor-sharp commands of cold, ringing as quietus-true as a
death camp 'zieg heil' to stifle into submission the last desperate life
cries of fall.

A thick white blanket of moonglow muffles the feverish pleading
with a tao quiteude that mirrors homicide by soft pillow strangulation.

Red leaves that survive peer through, remaining like blood upon the white
hand of stolen innocence;
a hand that reaches for the truth of the sun
to succeed winter with the (re)birth that is spring.

It is a newborn full of
(screaming blooming trickling bursting laughing breathing glimmering)
fearlessness that reaches through the quietude with a promise of life.

Mother Earth dotes upon it
(this prodigy of revitalization)
(the sweet wisdom of this innocent child).
She richly swaddles it in a cloak of vine, leaf, and bloom.

In this cloak shall the globe find solace -
a form of retribution whose appearance will justify quiet death
with the promise, the hope, the wonder of rebirth.

The bridge/the gap;
the life/the death
are paradoxes with full justification;
for all is
(and has been)
(and will continue to be)
symbiotic
in the hand
of Gaia.
~


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