Seasons of the Soul

6-1-09

The trees that see through our semblances

Thrive in a forest of regret and rejection

 

Their deciduous leaves reamain ignorant of change;

And so as their seasons alter

Their world can no longer be regarded as familiar

 

Their limbs reach for Heaven

Wrapping their branches around God's shoulders

And above the wind which winds around the hollows

You can hear them beg Him to never let go

 

Vivacity subsides into compliance

In an era of conformity and repitition

Their veins run cold

And the color drains from Nature's face

 

Pulled down by gravity

It is the end of a cycle

Death has its place here,

But this graveyard is not silent

 

These trodden leaves sink into the earth,

Recycling their grievances into a sweeter kind of sorrow

Dormant, they lay waiting

And time passes slowly by

 

Grey skies slip into blue hues

And their limbs reach for Heaven again

With the lives of a weathered past guiding the future

The same trees that see through our semblances

 

Thrive in a forest of an untainted season.