My desires tell me to stay evergreen

But Your desires tell me otherwise

You force a new color to bleed over

Then You peel me of my driest skin

 

I begrudgingly allow the metamorphosis

As the yellows and oranges become more comfortable

And I begin to shake loose the sunburns

As Your shortened daylight serves as holy moisturizer

 

For autumn is not about new growth

It’s not about the sprouting of first beautiful blooms

But instead the slow disintegration of past comforts

And a dissolve of unrighteous content

 

You will use this time to gather up loose ends

But also to break off brittle, unfruitful branches

For the harvest has been reaped of passionless crops

And future frosty blues and snowy whites will kill off anything left

 

This season tends to cause weariness

But I trust in Your promises of spring

For autumn clears way for a maturation of oneself

And brings about hope through cooler but intentional winds of change