- Poem of Lifeby Loren .
This work has reached the exceptional level
An ode of love to God's creation.
Poem of Life by Loren .
Love Poem Poetry Contest contest entry
Artwork by alaskapat at

What manner of quiet is this -
what manner of morning peace?

These self-same trees once burning with the glow of dying embers -
their branches aflame with autumn's leaves -
now stand bare in charred tributes to their former selves.

Foliage, once burnished with flames to warm souls on lonely walks, now gone.

Hearts now hasten to see and hear what eyes and ears cannot -
lying beneath the snow-
even deeper, beneath the frozen soil.

The soft sound of slumber the escaping murmurs of dreams.

Fertile fields, set apart -
what secrets knit within your womb -
what hushed visions dance within your bedchambers?

Icy pond,
mirror now fogged with frozen vapors,
do you wait the brushstrokes of gliding fowl upon your waters -
is that what will awaken you?

Is summer's light the sword it carries to pierce your bosom, lance the boil of dearth, and deride winter's scarcity?

Morning sky now bereft of winging bird
that gives air its very grace,
do you hesitate in warmer climes that they may linger and frolic in your streams?

Do birds call out for you to stay;
or do you, with warm Chinook winds,
whisper and tease them back to fill this dawning,
canvased void?

Hidden creatures, of pelt, scale, and feathers,
what shadows veil your secret lairs, your brakes, your dens - your hideaways?

Droning bee, dancing butterfly, bobbing firefly; has nature yet to knock at your doors?
Does earth's tilt tumble you out of your refuge?
Is Atlas friend or foe?

Flower and bramble,
do you wait the gentle patter of warm rain gilded with sunshine?
Nubile buds, fragrant with fermented and calming scents;
your colors wordless to acclaim,
what hesitates your coming forth?

Beneath the trees now bereft of greening leaves, blossoms of spring and hint of summer,
I wait.

Seasons are but a pupae, which cannot be hastened.
Creatures, great and small,
each a life beyond ourselves, bide their entrance -
their promised coming perched in our souls.

What manner of quiet is this -
what manner of dawning peace?

Poem of life, never ending stanzas -
the future lies waiting in the past.

This earth, its fields and tenants,
each a rebirth of a hope and beauty that was and will ever be.

So too my thoughts in remembering them - awaiting their promised return


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