Poem for September

At The Witch Stones-by Douglas Thompson-210714As if light itself can grow weary
burn out from over-use
too much laughter bring reflective tears
remembered childhood’s endless holidays
seep out as fading photographs
into cold new terms and sober uniforms
see now the subtle yellowing in the sky
the grandeur of summer’s glorious
oncoming death expressed in symphonies
of cirrostratus armies falling tier on flank
upon their swords of melancholy light
no season takes our breath like autumn
nor expresses better our human plight
who begin our slow cascades of cell decay
before even twenty years of youth
have held their sway, so now we see
our misting breath and frost encroach
as warnings of fragility, senility
here is the beauty so well expressed
across the canvas of the very sky
that what we feel in life
is too precious and ingenious
for any God to let it die, have faith
that all that we must lose, have lost
love and friendship, the hopeless cost
is colour, texture of the leaves that fall
to feed new life wherein
there is no death at all.

(the image above is a digital ‘painting’ I did last month called ‘At The Witch Stones’ based on the rural landscape of Baldernock with Glasgow’s towerblocks on the horizon)

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2 Responses to Poem for September

  1. joan poulson says:

    Beautifully wise and thoughtful, a fine poem. I recommend reading it aloud to yourself, letting the poem speak to your heart

  2. Thank you Joan. Praise from a master…

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