The eldest of the seasons
The Eldest of the Seasons
if life is but a dream for the dead
may you visit us during autumn, the eldest of the seasons
letting your fragile bones be exposed to the crisp air of october
letting your fingertips run over the bars of the cemetery gates
rust collecting between the iron hinges, waiting for someone to
spill the secrets within. autumn, being the goddess she is, will
spread her arms draped with a worn-out sweater, each hole a
different memory claimed by a different person, and
welcome you into her heaven, permanently in the golden hour
casting mahogany light over the universe. let her
breathe passion into the dying embers of amber firelight, holding onto
a dream stolen and given
from her younger sisters' summer wind. give her
your worries, your fears, and let her
collect them like the coins that fall in the bottom of wallets
she will take your burden from you and hang it on her wall
next to the vines she ripped out of a poor soul's heart and
a matte eyeshadow palette left behind in a coffee shop. let her
shower you with glass kisses to treat your summer burns,
physical, psychological, and emotional
she knows the power her younger sister holds and she is the relief team
after the chaos of the hurricane. let her
teach you the forgotten secrets of the universe through her own perspective
telling you stories of her childhood while a
copper pot of tea brews on her kitchen stove. she knows
it's not long before she must leave you alone, but she knows
she will revisit you at some point in time. let her
heal you, if only for the briefest of seconds
for the quickest of hugs
for the cleanest of kisses, let her
grace and forgiveness be the reason
you finally choose to let go.
From the beautiful and overflowing cornucopia of submissions to YWP's Fall Contest, and after much discussion and debate, our judges settled on one Gold award winner in each of the two categories of w...
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