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Literature Text
Autumn wends its weary way
To Winter's house of solitude;
Dark thought and barren branches
Lie waiting for October's temperate charms
To have fallen.
And in the house of silence,
The hush of coastal fog:
Held breath
The suspense of snow.
Velvet and firelight
I yearn for bright festivity
Richness and warmth
To clothe the bleak bones
Of the Empty Season.
Inward-turning
The windows of my soul
Have no view —
A chrysalis of cold.
To Winter's house of solitude;
Dark thought and barren branches
Lie waiting for October's temperate charms
To have fallen.
And in the house of silence,
The hush of coastal fog:
Held breath
The suspense of snow.
Velvet and firelight
I yearn for bright festivity
Richness and warmth
To clothe the bleak bones
Of the Empty Season.
Inward-turning
The windows of my soul
Have no view —
A chrysalis of cold.
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October has its own richness, steeped in the melancholy of waning.
© 2014 - 2024 copper9lives
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The Sun is always
Shining somewhere past the Night.
The Light is waiting.
Shining somewhere past the Night.
The Light is waiting.