BEAUTY II

Leaves long gone still shine, their
discarnate green
lastingly allied to dark boughs 
that bore them.
The blunt wind, softly hoarse this
November dawn, sunders
the faintly berry haze upon the hill,
as a stifled sob
the pristine silence of 
an abandoned crypt.
A barn owl calls over the webbed 
purple-grey of veiled heather
staining the unvaryingly nocturnal air.
I marvel at the startling beauty
of the Goddess' tone poem,
of mists ravenous as an inferno,
of these swelling, soundless, ghostly
tides razing the land, 
consuming the last vestige 
of Autumn's breathing colours,
as though yearning to attain
the form and pulse of those who
surrendered them.
The Celestial Goldsmith drowses,
dreaming of the glory
of foregone Summers, heedless of
the ploughman's dispraise.
Yet Earth does not cavil, or tames
this impulsion, for she, too,
longs for respite from shadows and
storms, for slumbers replete with
visions of an immemorial past.
Life and Death must heed
cosmic concantenation.
The darkling mist shall gather its tales
of light, of a thousand and one lamps,
of Flame, Moon, Stars and Sun,
ere the liminal Season ends.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: ALLEGORY OF INCLINATION (detail)
Source: www.pinterest.com
Artist: Artemisia Gentileschi