(A Poetic Ode)

Beneath the amber skies of fall, we gather near the hearth,
A season's whisper beckons us, to honour what has worth.
The bounty spread upon the table gleams with autumn's hue,
Yet richer still, the wealth of hearts, in gratitude made true.

Oh, Thanksgiving, sacred pause, a hymn to life's delight,
You teach us how to cherish dawns and praise the velvet night.
The golden grains, the ripened fruit, the earth's abundant yield,
Remind us of the laboured hands that tilled each cherished field.

Not just the feast of sustenance, but nourishment of soul,
In giving thanks, our spirits bloom, becoming strong and whole.
We bow to love's eternal flame, to friendships forged in fire,
To dreams that rise like phoenix wings, ignited with desire.

The laughter of the young resounds, the wisdom of the old,
Together weaving memories, more precious than fine gold.
The stories shared around the flame, the blessings softly sung,
Bind us in a tender thread, no matter where we're flung.

Oh, gratitude, a gentle seed that blossoms into grace,
Transforming every moment into something we embrace.
Even in the shadows, there's a light that softly glows,
A quiet joy, a whispered peace that every heart bestows.

Thanksgiving is a sacred gift, a time to truly see,
The beauty in the simple things, the power of "we."
So let us raise our voices high, our thanks to heaven send,
For life, for love, for one another, gifts that never end.

In the stillness of your mind, truth hums,
A whisper in shadows, where silence drums.
It lingers softly, a quiet refrain,
Nestled in corners of joy and pain.

It waits in the pit where instincts dwell,
A weight on your chest, a story to tell.
You push, you pull, yet there it stays,
Threading your nights and haunting your days.

To know is a blade that cuts so deep,
Through veils of denial, through restless sleep.
Yet knowing alone is a hollow key,
Until you accept what's meant to be.

Acceptance, a bridge so fraught with demand,
It asks for your courage, a trembling stand.
It calls for release of the things you've held,
The hopes that have bound you, the fears you've quelled.

Change looms like a tempest, fierce and wide,
But within it, strength will always reside.
The answer is etched, carved into your soul,
Not a fragment, but the whole of the whole.

Still, you stall, you bargain for time,
For proof, for signs, for stars to align.
But beneath it all, the truth is clear,
Its voice grows louder, ever near.

To surrender is not to bow or break,
But to rise with the courage your heart will make.
For the strength you seek is already there,
In the depths of your being, waiting to dare.

So step through the fire, embrace the flame,
Let knowing and accepting become the same.
On the other side, you'll find your way,
Lit by the truth you faced today.

Love rests on no foundation, no stone, no earth, no clay,
No pillar carved by mortal hands, no form that fades away.
It floats upon the endless sea, a tide that knows no shore,
An open sky, eternal blue, forever, evermore.

It rises in the morning mist, it hums the song of stars,
It journeys through the boundless night, unbound by time or scars.
No boundary can confine its reach, no tether hold it fast,
Its present is eternity; no future, and no past.

The endless ocean whispers deep, its voice both fierce and kind,
A tempest wild, a tender breeze, the balance undefined.
It carves the cliffs of fleeting lives, its waves both strong and pure,
A force that bends, that shapes, transforms, yet leaves the soul secure.

No source can claim its genesis, no point can mark its start,
It spills beyond the map of thought, and floods the aching heart.
No end awaits its ceaseless tide, no shore to bid adieu,
Its currents flow through every life, through every "me" and "you."

To grasp its form is to let go, to hold it is to free,
To lose yourself within its depths, and find infinity.
For love, unmoored, untamed, divine, is more than we can name,
An endless ocean, vast and wild, yet every wave the same.

So cast away your anchor, drift, surrender to its flow,
For love's great truth is simply this: the only home you'll know.

Here in this suffering, this crucible womb,
The known gods falter, their altars go blind.
Each creed, once golden, now echoes of doom,
Are stripped by the blaze of a self left behind.

The fire, a trickster, conjured by me,
Fed on illusions, I named as my truth,
Burned every surety, scorched every plea,
And laughed in the voice of my long-lost youth.

Beliefs like paper, curled in despair,
Whispered of meaning as smoke drew near;
No prayer could escape, no breath of air,
Only silence now, and the sting of fear.

Oh, sacred pyre, dark alchemist flame,
You steal without mercy, without regret.
Yet in your furnace, I learn my name,
One I had buried, one I’d forget.

Entombed in ash, no breath, no form,
Not dead, but held in the hush of becoming.
This, the still of the spiral storm,
Where soul sheds skin and blood stops drumming.

And then...

In the hush, a tremor, soft as thought.
From soot, from ruin, from what was unmade,
A flicker, a shimmer, a heartbeat caught,
A wing unfolds in the charcoal shade.

Phoenix, I rise, raw, unmasked, untried,
No longer chained to the truths I knew.
From the furnace of lies and the self that died,
Emerges a being fierce and new.

More beautiful now for the burn I bore,
More sovereign now for the faith I lost,
For to rise is not to be as before,
But to bear the bloom that survived the cost.

A house may boast of beams and stone,
Of hearth that glows, of rooms well-known,
Yet walls feel hollow, dreams incomplete,
Without a cat curled near your feet.

For what is home but spirit’s grace?
A velvet shadow, a whiskered face,
The purr that hums through night’s still air,
A silent vow that love is there.

Soft-footed keeper of the flame,
Who answers not when called by name,
Yet chooses, freely, where to rest,
And crowns the humble lap as blest.

Oh, let the grandest halls repeat:
A home is not a home, complete,
Until the heart can gently meet
The quiet cat beside your feet.