October

1 Comments

October

October

 

You were soft, October.
I saw you in your splendid flames,
Celebrating your acceptance 
of the aging year,
I loved you most.
You waited with me,
Unconcerned in your indecision,
Not winter, not summer, 
something else, mostly kind,
Whispering of change.
But then one year
You carried to me,
Upon one of your cloudless,
mornings of perfection,
A wound of ages
A dreadful caller
With a callous blade, to pierce 
And twist, shred and scrape, 
visiting upon my soul, 
The darkest of shadows
You took the sunshine from my sky,
The ground from beneath my feet,
My shelter, hope, my reasons, my love
Leaving only a body and breath
A hair's width from death
To no end, no one would gain,
No selfish motive
No villainous face
Only pointless, inanimate fate.
An errant calculation
Oh October!
You took too much,
Why did you have to take it all?
And now as you return I feel the scars burn,
In the saddest anniversary
And I hate you most, 
You'll never again be
What you were to me
While losing it all, I guess,
I lost you too, October.
You were soft, October.
I saw you in your splendid flames,
Celebrating your acceptance 
of the aging year,
I loved you most.
You waited with me,
Unconcerned in your indecision,
Not winter, not summer, 
something else, mostly kind,
Whispering of change.
But then one year
You carried to me,
Upon one of your cloudless,
mornings of perfection,
A wound of ages
A dreadful caller
With a callous blade, to pierce 
And twist, shred and scrape, 
visiting upon my soul, 
The darkest of shadows
You took the sunshine from my sky,
The ground from beneath my feet,
My shelter, hope, my reasons, my love
Leaving only a body and breath
A hair's width from death
To no end, no one would gain,
No selfish motive
No villainous face
Only pointless, inanimate fate.
An errant calculation
Oh October!
You took too much,
Why did you have to take it all?
And now as you return I feel the scars burn,
In the saddest anniversary
And I hate you most, 
You'll never again be
What you were to me
While losing it all, I guess,
I lost you too, October.

 

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Lind commented on October

10-09-2017

Very beautiful. This poem really creates a sad feeling.

The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

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