Monday, September 2, 2013

To Everything There Is A Season

A time to weep and a time to 
  laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to 
  dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a 
  time to gather them;
a time to embrace and a time
  to be far from embraces.
                                              Ecclesiastes 3:4,5



                                                         Let me remember you 
                                                          lovely friend,
                                                         long dead,
                                                          when
                                                         we walked beneath
                                                          the trees 
                                                         beginning
                                                          their autumn 
                                                         murmurings, 
                                                          rustling
                                                         their blazing
                                                          benedictions
                                                         over our dark  
                                                          exile, 
                                                          becoming 
                                                         this bending
                                                          light
                                                         of long prayer
                                                          across
                                                         what is numb
                                                          and cold 
                                                         in the north 
                                                          of our hearts
                                                         across our brief belonging
                                                          and still 
                                                         inexplicable
                                                          losses.







3 comments:

  1. My heart softens when I read this, Cynthia. Regardless of the short lines, this poem reads fairly slowly, the aliteration of "beneath...beginning," "blazing benedictions", "mute...memory" , "becoming this bending," and "brief belonging" perhaps being partly the reason for this. I like "the north of our hearts." It is honest and embracing at once. Many blessings to you as you sit with, revisit, and move through this certain kind of grief.

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  2. Thank you dear friend for your way way generous and kind comments. There is a certain kind of melancholy in the air as autumn approaches. Losses remain through all the seasons, but so does love and bright days. So thankful for so much...God Bless.

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  3. I agree about Autumn's melancholy way; there is a sweetness to it that speaks to my soul. Ironic that the sweet-smelling autumn air comes from the death and decay of living and once-living leaves and plants -- somehow it comes to me as "clean." It must be a washing-away of sorts, a release. So lovely that it gives way to dormancy and rebirth. Isn't God brilliant in his creation?

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