Thursday, August 16, 2018

The Mind Has Its Seasons

The mind has its seasons.
It has its summer, winter, autumn, spring
Its seasons of searching and remembering
Its seasons of waxing and waning, its seasons of slumbering.

The mind has its seasons.
It has its pulses, rhythms, cycles, turns,
The hour that freezes and the hour that burns.

The mind has its seasons
And its seasons do not give way
Until the appointed term, the rightful day.

The mind has its nights and days
It hast its mornings, lit by the sun's bright rays.
It has its midnights under the pale moon's gaze.

The mind has its times of quest
When it seeks the furthest, highest, best,
The hour when we rush with joy to the hardest test.

The mind has its weariness
When all it seeks is silence, loneliness,
Darkness, stillness, caverns fathomless.

The mind has its eras, too;
Its revolutions, forging itself anew;
Basking in daybreak and bathing in morning dew;

It has its revivals, seeking out older ways,
Kindling again the embers of earlier days
Praising the light primeval with twice-born praise.

The mind has its seasons, strange and mysterious.
The mind has its long descents to the dark abyss.
The mind has its mountaintop moments of indescribable bliss.

The mind has its seasons...what season is it now?
Seek not the things that the season will not allow.
The season will change, though you know not when or how.


  1. Magnificent! I think it reads effortlessly.

    1. Thank you! I posted this on Facebook, the Irish Conservatives Forum, and here. It's nice to get ONE response!!

      I'm planning to write a post about this "style" of poetry, as I see it.

  2. I loved this poem! Have never seen it until tonight so therefore no chance to say so before.

  3. I´d like to save the poem, and also to send it on for some English-speaking "naturalised" Swedes.

  4. Thank you so much! You're very welcome to send it on to whomsoever you wish. I'm always delighted when someone likes my poetry!