Solace Comes

Then solace comes, in dreams of cooler weather,
When autumn’s voice will free the captive heart,
The music of what can be done, together,
The silence of what must be borne, apart.

The color on the hills: a box of crayons,
The scent of leaves and trees and autumn things,
In sweaters, charged with hope, and maybe ions,
And other comforts fall so often brings —

We stand upon the threshold of departure,
Not from our lives, but how we choose to live,
The waiter, and the worker, and the charger,
A time to take, a time to hold, or give —

For life’s chaotic, but, it is not lawless,
And time itself can bring us hope and solace

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

7 thoughts on “Solace Comes”

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