tapestry

every changing, ever present

Confused, waiting in a four cornered room
With imaginary walls upon physical walls –
Sifting aimlessly, patiently through my collected souvenirs
Of ghost towns, and ghost people,
And ghost skies, and ghost trees,
And ghost emotions, and ghost words.
Sitting, exhausted – late September light shines through the window
Illuminating the heart of these smoldering memories.

Reds, yellows, and oranges of Autumn leaves,
Vibrant in the season’s beauty, decorate dull landscapes.
A brisk change from the heat of yesterday.
Soon, the leaves will gently fall from the branches above,
To paint the path for those, too, who walk with their heads down.

Sitting quietly in the mountains of the finger lakes
I step outside into the field.
There, held in truth’s gentle hand
A timeless peace is found in the Autumn spirit.
In the distance, colors painted in waves
Along the mountainous forests
Bring my gaze to quiet attention.
The intensity of the scene deepens as dawn calls to the slumbering sun,
Pulling Him to the surface.
Peeking over the fall horizon, there is a flicker.
The first narrow streak of sunlight
Lifts the dark veil from the wise Autumn leaves.
A bird chirps; seen and revealed,
The light quickly widens its scope into sunshine
Stretching across the entire painted mountainsides,
Bathing the birds and their songs of rebirth;
And the grazing deer and the morning dew upon the grass;
Touching upon the small retreat center, the humble farm,
And myself, lonely, but never alone.
In this universal bathing
Harmony reveals itself on the surface,
Beyond the pains
Of this turning world.
But purpose in this moment entangles me.
Effortless presence escapes my understanding as I stand
Dumbfounded, struggling, and unaware of my own role
while bathed in a tapestry of beauty.

Sitting with this memory, far from those painted leaves,
A tear peeks over the horizon
Accompanied by a quiet clarity
As Keats’ words come rushing back to me:
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, -- that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
Maybe one day, while present once again
For a poet’s Autumn sunrise
I shall remember back to this moment of confusion
In the four cornered room,
And rediscover the truth of the moment,
The beauty of the truth,
And my timeless place within
This beautiful,
Changing tapestry.

Reviews

[PianoandPage]

this piece has moments of startling brilliance

"Sitting, exhausted � late September light shines through the window
Illuminating the heart of these smoldering memories."

"In this universal bathing"

"This beautiful,
Changing tapestry" - a beautiful ending here.

while reading this, i did get a sense of it being a bit.... cluttered. i think you could prune back some unnecesary words and make this just that more polished and flow a little easier.

not sure if you meant for this to come across this way but the "four walls" made me think of being imprisoned, maybe in a mental institution or some other stark world. if so, the contrast of this present dilemma and the memory of a poet's autumn is haunting and well done.

[Legion]

Hauntingly beautiful. Well written.