The Viking Journal

The breeze whispers secrets, the scarlet leaves murmur lies

My mind says he’s not coming, yet I sit here all the while

Let me listen to the falsities, the untruths and deceits 

Absorb Autumn’s sweet, mendacious song and allow myself to believe 

Because hope has laid dormant for too long, in the depths of a melancholy sea

A treasure chest waiting patiently to be discovered and set free

I’ll wait here under this ancient oak, for however long it takes 

The moon will phase, the seasons will change, a never ending wait

The sanguine clouds cheer, the migrating birds sing

My heart tells me waiting is futile, but hope has blossomed like spring

I can picture him appearing, in the golden, russet wood

And I can hear his voice, when before I never could

Fall has fostered faith, in its enchanting, secure embrace

But it won’t be long before winter’s icy sting fills this cheerful space

I know the cold will come, with its biting, frigid gusts

I know the trees will lose their rusty colored leaves, and then they’ll all be crushed

But when snow finally comes, and the sky is a stormy grey amidst the chill

I’ll remember the fall and know that my hope will flourish still.