Autumn is a trickster,

But it does not deceive

So much as it allows us to deceive

Ourselves. Entering world and body

With an ego void of

Stealth. Concluding with the fall on the hour

 

Of the twelfth. Now upon us,

A breeze brushes the first chill

Over skin. Yet, we trust not what we feel,

So much as what we see. Ignored, the

Intuition that prickles

Willfully fails to forewarn. Our attention instead

Consumed by the landscape

Abound. Where our perception

Of self is too often found. Beguiled by the

Volatile colors that ambush and hound.

Ruby reds, sunlit yellows,

Emerald greens, oranges set ablaze, they drip all

Around as vibrant jewels

Drip from a crown. Harvested

Crops and trees, overrun by fruits and nuts

With glee. Oh! So sweet to be surrounded

By beauty, treasure, and

Accolade. Those around look on with envy and

Heed every adornment,

Basking in a misguided,

Limited, and feeble power attained.

Somehow still unfulfilled, we desire

And covet even more

Just the same. Draped carelessly on our pedestal

Or throne, look inside

To realize there is so

Much more of us to know. We all

Wish to rise; we all yearn to fly high,

To be accepted by

The masses with pride. Yet, it matters not if we

Do not accept the truth

Inside, that truth we hide

From prying eyes. Lost in conformity,

The courage to embrace uniqueness

Dies. Then it comes.

Do you hear the drums? The fall has arrived.

Autumn now brings forth

Its fated other side. Cut

And prune and clip and shear, and

Gather with worry and fear, for the

Frost descends far

Too early and unexpectedly this year. The gemstone-

 

Colored leaves break free.

They may flutter and sink

To the earth on a gentle breeze, or crash

Down, heavy with the burden of weight

That resounds. On

The ground, the colors they owned are no longer

 

Found. The leaves now dry,

Shriveled, and faded to brown.

As a cliff edge plummets to the sea, the

Fragile ego tumbles down. Ego and cliff

Both the same, they

Crack, crumble, and fall to dust. Oh, the hope and

Wanderlust. Like ash riding

The gales, scattering the

Earth, searching for new life in its

Hearth. Let go, release, and start

Again, it is then the

Shame falls away and we find a better way. Nobody

Is above the fall, so

Release or be pushed,

But make no mistake, the universe

Makes the final call. Accept, for we

All must fall, gift or

Pain, in the end only we can say. Do not give up,  

 

We never know what

Tomorrow may bring.

Stand and climb the stairs again,

But this time, do things towards

A different end.

Choices all around, a greater purpose is where

Humility is found.

True purpose buried

In the rubble of security in which

You now lie. It is there, in the dark,

A treasure of you

Waiting to be mined. Be different, be brave, and

Hold the world up in

Your own unique way.

Alas! Do not expect it will hold

You up every moment of the day.

In this all

Pretenses will finally fall away and the love and

Joy that seeps

Within will stay.

Oh! What a simple grace!

When embraced, the experiences of a weathered and changing soul boast knowledge. Perspectives are born as we wander our chosen scenery. Abundance will always evolve, and loss is inevitable. Thus, reality will prod us from our heights as our worries and fears take hold and our accepted burdens will tell the tale of our lives and deaths along the way. Bravery means letting go of the weight with which we have been endowed or else our downfall may be a direct result of such decorations. Similarly, Resolution and Independence is a lyric poem that takes us on a journey beginning with the joys of nature, peaking with the idea of falling back into absentmindedness as a result of fears accumulated during arduous journeys presented, and ending with built up determination helping us to stand in our choices and do the work by facing our fading times in the hopes of being gifted an honorable existence. Through the eyes of the late English poet William Wordsworth, this work expresses a calm found in learning to stand on your own two feet. It paints the wisdom and richness of inward focus, the advantages of growth attained through reflecting on another’s closing expedition, and the importance of transforming the fruits picked from our labors into powerful allies that support opportunity.

My article, Building a Support System, reenforces the importance of seeing beyond the obvious, popular, or customary so as to discover authenticity through the trials and truth behind the accolades. We all develop weeds and change is what allows us to pluck them out. My poem, The Ticking of the Falling Clock, supports this discussion as it pertains to the release of what no longer serves our interests or growth, so that we may search for our own uniquely created opportunities resulting from lessons attained through the beauty and the harshness of self-transformation.