September and I

Life is crisp in the fall;
transformative times of leaves and tea
a cozy mess of understanding and love
where blue skies meet orange ents
and wasps formerly flew up mountains.

The greenery seems to take on
a hue of gold and hydromel,
beckoning the old gods to come forth
and sip from her offerings.

Seasonal fruits lose their passion
and brutish cucurbits resurface in troves
eager to potage their way
into hungry city-dweller’s lives.

From the inside of my glass cage,
nothing seems all that different:
the sun’s rays hit me in all the same places
but when the doors open again,
the wind will no longer be warm.

Steps

It takes discipline
To not wallow in the sorrow
Abruptly brought to life by the unknown

One step at a time
We lift our feet and move forward
Ever so slowly, never quickening the pace

A flow of thought
Creeping like a monster in the night
Unable to see reason, trying to devour you

It takes discipline
To hold your ground, steady,
In the face of such worldly adversity

A hunger growing
We reach for the forbidden fruit
Ever so carefully, never tightening the grip

An eye opens
That of the witch, but also the demon
Undaunted by your carelessness, they see all

It takes discipline
To not lose oneself in contemplation
Of things sowed by the heart never sought by the head.

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