Whispers of autumn
My form is a tree, dark desires its leaves
and as I now approach my sunset years,
benign autumn breeze of grace gently sieves,
ego urges that immersed heart in fears.
Energised by silence, cry of my soul,
conjures an intent wave, potent and pure
and as I become light scriptures extol,
the season of change makes my heart demure.
What no longer serves me, just drops away
but ego that dies, in truth never was
and as soul shines like a luminous ray,
God’s bliss flame burns off all my sins and flaws.
Ego shorn, I am, with each breath reborn,
whispers of autumn, birthing a new dawn.
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