Breathing Poetry

After the voice of the coolest breeze

Photo by natsuki on Unsplash

There is always the fear —
Lingering just long enough to touch
The truth — of losing what might lie
Beyond the boundaries of creation,
Before we were born, and
Death, after we have gone.

Yet, it's a virtue of the living

To contemplate the dying, reciting
The poetry of autumn's
Infernal rainbow
In the air, as days begin
To shrink before our eyes and nature

Transforms the foliage
Into a whirling dervish

Of fallen leaves dancing
On that unmarked grave
Where we all end up. though
We may never hear the voice,
We feel the breeze, never

To ponder yesterday, but to muse

Upon tomorrow, as something never
Gone but instead reborn
From the ashes
Of our past —
Incarnate
As embers of living soul.