Clarity and Mist in an October Morning

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

When autumn comes, we cannot be alone.

The scarlet, orange, yellow gold and green

Of leaves reach out, refuse to let chest moan,

And fill the lungs with crispiness unseen

But tangible in lungs.  The colors glow

Inside our eyes in ways that love cannot.

The center of us feels the spectrum grow

Not just in brains but everywhere that ought

To be uplifted in communion with

The leaves and angel blue and God-beard white

Denying any separation myth

Of severing between us and Christ’s height.

  The union of all things becomes so true

    That pantheism seems long overdue.

~ Phillip Whidden