Harvest

The rose blossoms without why, cares not for itself

Asks not to be seen, but demands to be felt

The leaf withers without why, cares only for the other,

Demands to be seen, but cares not to be felt

Autumn beckons us to come and die

Harvest bids us to celebrate amongst the dead

The trees shudder at this punctual revelation

The autumn leaves sway in holy matrimony

Clasping to their groom’s wooden heart

The insinuations of the Spirit bid them to bittersweetly depart

Leaving only fresh lovers hanging in the crisp air

Bridal gowns delicately dance in their softened suicides

Heavenly clouds sweetly embrace their calling

As they soothe the earth in cooling ambivalence

Justifying detached nirvana

In its final breaths, the earth bids us to come home

Come home, so that we may live

For the loss of home is the beginning of death

And yet we regulate death, mitigating it to controllable piles

Mass graves that rob the dead of their duty

If the substance of our lives is to be found in its swiftness,

Then how real are the dead if we claim them as lost?

Autumn reminds us of the messiness of death.

But alas, we still celebrate Harvest

For Harvest bids us to celebrate among the dead

By giving us a job to do amongst the dying

A last refrain of life

To die remembering, to live sustaining

To die teaching, to live learning

To die preaching, to live unconditionally

A reminder of what dying has to offer the living

A refrain for what the living oblige to the dying

To let our hearts be planted in the soil of others’ lives

Oh, let the leaves blanket the floors of our holy cathedrals!

Let lovers go fresh to be undone in the sight of heaven!

Let us celebrate the Harvest

A joyful and incredulous laugh amongst friends

At the absurdity and beauty of life arising from death.