Does the oak of autumn 

hold dearly to every leaf?

too cool the temp’ture,

too little the light,

time of the season not to be tangled with,

if life be worth living beyond the now,

look, see the cycling of what is,

may it be firm guidance for the how.

 

listen, feel what’s in the space,

the senses were here long before the me,

use the I as transcendental tool

to which petty will not capture thee.

 

go, go young one, and live to be,

fear not the uncertainty of the shed,

a false sense of control leads down a rosebud path 

of insidious and evermore dread.

 

but the former breaks chains and sprouts the wings,

to see what was obscured,

so let go the leaf that has done its due,

and of the anxiety you will be cured.