Sunday, March 2, 2014

The Cycle

What is purpose if
Chesterton's Labyrinth proves true.  
The arrow of time continues
As we dissolve into the blue.
A certain crispness fills the air
And autumn has arrived
To set life's stage and show 
All has been contrived. 
Unplowed fields lay fallow.
Shame built from despair.
The watchers keep watching
While the doers only stare.
What path can be found
If all are unattended.
Badly broken, bleeding hearts
Are sad and unmended.
Is your house in order?
Do you sense the reeling?
Can you sense the softest glow 
while cold darkness is stealing?
Winter waits, willing yet impatient.
Frost with effort will freeze.
In our time of living, stalled.
To hibernate with leafless trees.
Yet over yon horizon met
With serenity so filled.
The sun and warming heat awaits
The proper hour billed.
Those left standing after all
The freezing air dissipates.
There may be fewer around,
And we simply congregate
To tell of woes and grieve.
Season's losses, vast and unreal.
Incomplete harvest leads to
deadly Winter's earthen feel.
Hope rides high and fresh.
Spring begets new green.
Promises of man's bitter life
Begin again unseen.


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