I write a poem about a falling leaf
and how it is a metaphor for life,
which is the same as being a metaphor for death.
I say that the leaf has had its time
and drifts into compost
cosying and cocooning tender seeds as it decomposes.
And I say that the leaf leaves behind
a bud on the branch that will burst
into a new leaf in the spring.
I say that the leaf is dead,
not pretending, or gone to a ‘better place’,
it has gone to make way for new life.
There is no place where leaves go when they have had their time,
except back to the earth.
As we will.
I read the poem I have written
and the concept seems clear to me.
The words string together coherently,
and there are no spelling mistakes.
For Ronovan’s weekly prompt.
If the answer is
sun moon stars a budding rose
what is the question?
For the Secret Keeper’s five word prompt.
LEAF | HOME | ALTER | LIGHT | FRONT
A red leaf drifts home
in the changing light
from day to night,
and peace and happiness slump
like weary faces,
letting the façade slip.
The night will be cold,
the winter long,
and who knows if the spring
will remember to return.
In the dark, brush of wings,
an owl a message brings,
sound of your voices springs, shivers skin
They sing across the sky,
I feel them pass, they fly,
no need for wings; I cry still today.
Beneath the moon, a rose runs,
a storm of petals sprayed from my mother’s fingers.
I watch her go in the purple rain—
spring rises in her steps.
Light wind on my skin,
sunshine on the sea;
dreams live on after death.
These nights are silent white
with frost and silver light
of moon that shines so bright through dark trees.
Last poem before I fall asleep. For Frank Tassone’s weekly haikai challenge.
birds flock flock flies all
in tune in wing together—
sky-full of beauty.