The Autumn Moon
A poem about the deeper meaning of human life.
The autumn moon
reminds me of the month of June,
whose harvests at midnight
were the bounties
of many a spring afternoon.
‘twas the freedom of summer
that kept my eyes fixed
betwixt April showers
and the winter rose flowers,
the perennial joy of seasons fulfilled
and time that, during the year, stands still
and life is rich in lush colors,
yet sovereign is the variegated sage-brush
amongst the firecracker-buds
that shelter the cooing thrush,
while the Equinox Man carves on the walls
of the cathedral-caverns where he is welcome
constellation-paintings that capture
the supernal oneness with nature
that illuminates the stars within himself
as a map of intuition for his descendants:
The gift of art belongs to you as proof that you are my child;
it shall be innate from before the womb to beyond the tomb.
Creativity is my heirloom and my heaven-sent present to you.
However, once you enter the world you will remember none of this.
Gone will be the memories of our conversations
about the past and the future and the meaning of your existence.
You will recover some of the answers when you leave
through lessons that come through the education of experience.
We shall part ways and reunite at the very end of it all,
when every mystery that has ever been hidden from you
since you left this place will be revealed to you
as a thorough account of the way you used the privilege of life
in the world that I created for you and appointed as yours for a time.
Looking back, ‘twas the freedom of summer
that reminds me of the month of June,
the time that, during the year, stands still
under the autumn moon and firecracker-buds
that sheltered the cooing thrush
when life is rich in lush colors,
whose harvests at midnight were the bounties
of the Equinox Man’s supernal oneness with nature
and all of his descendants,
even the few that will choose to know him
the education of the meaning of existence.
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