Hope Cycle

7/25/21. Hope Cycle Grief, like Love, is a seasonal thing. It comes and seems to last forever, Driving its tentacles deeper Than it seems possible to penetrate; Forcing the oozing of emotions It didn’t seem possible to touch. And then, entangled, the LovePain ended. Flash floods or feathery, frozen throws Would break through and blanket everything Once that in-between lull had passed. You know! That timeless, mesmerizing fog Hiding pathways to or from the heart. Drought is its own season in Love and Grief. Odd to see a whirlpool frozen Right where it had spun so wildly. More quickly, the meltdown takes all, As if the process could drain all the pain. Winter always has to take its stand. All living things have a right to die No matter how enchanted their time seemed. It makes no sense to bury beauty When joy and appreciation soared. The last snowfall gives birth to Spring. The cycle emits a sprig breaking ground; Little promise moments catch the heart, Removing the detours to Memory and Hope. Lessons in Seasons and Language Sometimes have to be experienced As mountaintops climbed and enjoyed; Along with plummeting hard from clifftips That were too sharp to hold on too long. No matter how transcendent the view In the descent, all deeply etch within. Unwelcome Summer sauntered back in, With its snapshots of all that is no more. Yet the sun radiates Promise! Because one life was so powerf’ly real Lessons speak louder than loss can block. Look at the garden beginning to grow again… So funny, but it doesn’t ask me For permission to begin once more: That which died brings its own. Instead, a mirror in the dew sees me Stepping from one garden to the next. Now that I’ve learned how to sow myself Wisdom says, It’s time to teach another.