Seasoned

I am the seasons.
Weaving in and out of time.
My passion a hot summer sun
burning inside
glowing through to the outside, offering the world its
warmth.
Defrosting some
scorching others.
Always
burning on the inside.
I fall.
Stumble.
Trip.
Through this maze.
Through this life.
Recovering.
Falling again.
Faltering just long enough to
recognize the beauty
of how the colors change.
Marveling at how they fade into the
nothingness
and the
fullness
of a raw and wintry heart.
Beating with the steady restfulness
that comes with struggle and
grace.
A silent strength
tenderly
lying in wait
for the
miraculous bloom
that surely shall spring.

Steady as the seasons weaving in and out of time.
I will always be.

The Lesson

No one ever taught me to love
myself.
It is something I learned on my own.

Always searching, searching outside of myself.
Filling, filling a hole with no bottom.
A hole with no end.

A fruitless effort.

Never realizing, never understanding
that love of self is a pre-requisite for love of
anything
else.

Wanting, wanting and never attaining.
Waiting, waiting for something that was never coming.
Never realizing, never understanding that
I 
was all that I had hoped and dreamed for.

No one ever taught me to love
myself.
It is something I learned on my own.