The Leaf Memoirs
My beauty is beginning to fade with the chill of the air.
The luster of my emerald skin grows tan by darkness, not light.
The softness of my veins hardens as the days grow into a dim haze.
I do not fear what lies ahead in the drift of a cold winter night.
My youth was spent wisely, basking each day in the warmth of the sun.
There is no regret, no apprehension, no shortness in my breath.
The end of this era will mark the start of something eternal and yet new.
Fall has brought with it change that must begin with death.
I was the same as all the others, yet different from the rest.
A small piece of something greater, I kept my personal charms.
Saying goodnight now to this old tree that gave me life,
I will sleep until it releases me from the loving touch of its arms.
As tender rays of hope kiss the water’s brow,
A promise is made that this day is like no other.
Yesterday comes no more, ‘tis the crisp wind’s vow.
Dreams are highlighted by these golden rimmed beams.
Dark shades fade with the cool night’s air,
While hope and happiness glisten in the pale blue seam.
Love grows with waves that roll gently to the shore.
Excitement quickens a heart to be broken no more.
Glimpses of all that has passed seem far away.
As the beauty of Life welcomes this new day.
The Golden Angel
A Golden Angel spoke to me once, of death and Life, of hope and love.
It was such a sweet dream, unlocking secrets from somewhere up above.
My Spirit was light and welcomed in the warmth of an eternal sun.
Memories of a lifetime were shared, like something new had just begun.
The Golden Angel spoke so clearly and everything lost was found.
Then I woke from the dream, feeling very human and earthly bound.
My eyes were opened and I saw, but in a half-conscious haze.
Time became a mystic blur of hours that seemed like days.
Did I understand more than the others then or really nothing at all?
Was it wisdom or insanity I found at my command, beck and call?
“Help them help each other” were the words I thought I’d heard.
So I set out to heed the call with the power of the written word.
Some listened and acted to show that they knew how to care.
But most went on with their lives, never learning how to share.
I questioned the dream in frustration and prayed for the Angel’s return.
Then I questioned whether it was I or they who simply could not learn.
I gave up on helping humanity and threw down the craft of my dutiful pen.
In an act of defiance, I would write no more, until the Angel spoke again.
The years crawled by like a slug in a rocky and treacherous land.
Then another Angel, dark and quiet, came to take me by the hand.
He led me through a smoky corridor to a place of shadows, cold and dry.
This was not the destination I’d expected, and I needed to know why.
I asked the Dark Angel why my long journey was to end in this dismal place.
He tipped his sharp chin and spoke of how I’d abandoned my own human race.
Tearing back my hand and crying out, I begged for one more chance.
The Golden Angel appeared beside me with a disappointed glance.
She whispered softly once more, “Help them help each other now.”
And the Dark Angel faded away with a smirk and a graceful bow.
So it is that the words fall swiftly now, through my Spirit and from my pen.
I will keep writing and trying to help, until I see the Golden Angel once again.