POEM: feuille-morte

Molly Beane poetry


Molly Beane Poetry | October 8, 2019 | Pigeon Forge, TN

(I’m writing a poetry book to be released early 2020. To sign up for notifications, CLICK HERE)

I haven’t seen autumn leaves change colors for years.
In the before-times, this was my favorite season,
precisely because of this stunning feuille-morte.
It’s especially beautiful with the backdrop
of cotton clouds softening mountain peaks.

A kaleidoscope of leaves slump gently to their death knell,
silently weeping.
But even in death, they teach beauty and grace.
They pirouette from the branch, making a perfect landing.

Like the leaves, we too, die and come back to life.
It’s my time – I’m already perishing.
I am a brown leaf awaiting Spring.
As sure as the seasons, I know it is coming, so I wait in peace.

We have a lot to learn from the trees.
They give us everything without expecting anything in return.
Oxygen. Lifeforce. Beauty. Wisdom.
Yet, we steal from them, as we do ourselves.

Teach me resilience and vulnerability.
Immobile and exposed to the harsh elements,
the rain carves her skin.
Yet she stands tall and proud.

Teach me community and support.
I stand in woodland, the sun painting my skin,
when I discover a tree split in half.
She lays perfectly perpendicular, held up in the arms of her neighbors.

Teach me acceptance and peace.
Our lives are as complicated as
tangling tree branches and exposed roots.
But they find wisdom and peace in the wild woods,
letting things unfold organically.
No judgment, only surrender.

I breathe deep, from the base of my belly,
savoring the aroma of the sweet autumn air.
I hope I can dance to the dark path as gracefully as the leaves.
I hope I can be the tree’s apprentice.

I know winter comes next.
In spring, I am born again.
But this time, I’ll be like the tree,
upward-bound with a glowing halo atop my head.

Molly Beane poetry

love, molly

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