Poem
Saturday, 15 October 2016

It Is Fall

Francis Pedraza
Dec 16, 2018 · 1 min read

The land morns the loss of itself
Shedding itself, rain tears, cloud thoughts
Remembering life, the sadness of joy
Two seasons passed in thriving
And now the angel of death approaches
But merely the shadow yet
Winter is coming
But for this breath
There is life conscious of itself
Of its own impermanence
Of things past and things to come
And beyond the coming doom
A new life
Reincarnate bliss
Too far to feel
But promised spring
And the sunlit lands beyond
Shall bloom.

First and last again, the one season of death.
Twice, the seasons of life, first of freshest youth, then of full glory.
Third, season of memory, of age, of knowing, and apprehension of fate.

Poetry of things past
Poetry of things present
Poetry of things to come
All memories come back to me
Lingering remembrance
What may I say
What may I write
To redeem this present
That is not base and low
Compared to what a thousand poets past
And a thousand poets hence
Have said
May say
About this, the season of tears

lowercase: poetry

Every poem, an explosion. Spirit moves through all beings who let it. Move through me!

Francis Pedraza

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Is spirit moving?

lowercase: poetry

Every poem, an explosion. Spirit moves through all beings who let it. Move through me!