DNA

There is indeed magic in this world,
Not of mana and incantations,
But the realm of nature,
Not of glyphs and sorcery,
But of our verdant mother,

The spells she wields,
Those helixes of code,
They are in perpetual flux,
Building blocks on an atomic scale,
Altered slightly in every iteration,

The marvels she summons are indeed magical,
Species and races and every tint of the rainbow,
Our mutations are the gifts she enchants us with,
Our differences are the witchcraft in our human coven,
In the magic of our DNA.

Beastman

They call me a beast,
Better suited to the wilderness,
Out of sight and out of mind,
Poking fun at my snout and feral grimace,
And my growls of nonsense during dialogue,
Derisively patting me upon my bestial mane,

It’s true that I feel lesser,
I’m subhuman,
Flea-ridden,
I stumble across societal rules on all fours,
I’m a flawed simulacrum of a man,
Despoiled by minotaur horns and lizard eyes,

It’s not possible to tame a wild creature,
And my pelt isn’t worth mounting,
So leave me to my slavering and howling,
I’m hardly domesticated,
So why not run free?
I am a beast after all.

Mans Best Friend

We don’t deserve these four-legged friends,
Our pack brethren,
They stand with us through every blitzkrieg,
Crouched in the selfsame craters,
The most innocent of friends,
The furry definition of emotional support,
A soft paw on the leg when tears fall,
Never having to sleep alone,

Even then some spit and kick out at them,
Manifesting mans malignant mannerisms,
They say only the good go to heaven,
But I fear they are slightly amiss,
Only canines go to heaven,
For dogs are angels whilst humans are devils,
They are not mere beasts,
They are family.

Dryad

In the heart of sylphic woods,
In glades no man has ventured,
Does a lady of the green reside,
Behind an oaken mask she hides,
Confining an ethereal and virgin face,
Her hair is a canopy all its own,
Viridian and amber and verdant,
Cloaked in the very same foliage she loves,
A moss ball gown,
And this forest is her masked gala,
Here she speaks to deer and tree both,
Listening to their aches and pains,
And tending to their woodland souls,

She’s a warden in this jade locale,
A motherly figure,
And one this natural world adores in return.

She-Elf

I once met a being of glamour,
Fresh from the shores of Arcadia,
A sylvan lady,
Slender and refined in stature,
Cloaked in every form of botany,
Beautiful yet somewhat off,
Verging upon androgyny,

Her hair was overgrown ivy,
And her eyes were frosted alabaster,
Her gaze felt ever like barely stifled fury,
A mother bears spirit married to the fae,
Natures proud hostility held fast in her voice,
The elements danced like sprites upon her silver tongue,
And from that tongue came a harsh attitude,

To her kind,
The human world was profane,
An aberration,
We are pollution given a body,
The antithesis of her creed,
It was difficult to argue,
So I gave myself to the green.

Thunder Play

A thunderstorm is a play,
Did you know that?
Those bolts of plasma that soar earthbound,
They’re actors to be perceived,
This storms dramatis personae,

The lights in the sky,
And encroaching rumbles,
They signal the curtains resonant opening,
To an applause from the very clouds,
A million little diamonds rushing down,

The bolts immediately commence their dance,
Spiralling and arcing and coalescing downwards,
Lighting up even the darkest night,
Mother Nature sends these dramas to us,
As equal parts frolic and show of force.

Rebirth Of Ash

I remember seeing that wasteland,
A desert spied through weary eyes,
A corpse of an environment,
Rotten and cracked,
Populated by the spectre of an ecosystem,
A dead land,
Auburn and drab in its last throes,
And it brought a tear to my eye,

Then that ash sapling grew,
And as this green warden germinated,
It was like time had been reversed,
The land came alive once more,
Greenery and vines returned to the loam,
Viridian spread through the veins of the dirt,
This magic came about from a single ash,
And it brought a tear to my eye.

Chitin Love

When we give ourselves to someone,
It’s like a beetle opening its carapace,
Exposing the soft underside,
The real you,
A pumping heart of emotions,
Passion coalescing with vulnerability,
The side of you that is more mammal than insect,
No more avoided gazes and nervous hands,

But nature is vicious,
It can all go wrong in a flash,
Human nature is an avian to your aphid love,
Like moths our wings can be plucked,
And like insects we can be squashed,
Under foot or in palm,
All that remains is cracked chitin,
And the fluid extract of a heart once loved.

Woodland Duke

I waltzed upon a woodland path,
To release some serotonin,
To be one with the natural backdrop,
Between the crowds of bark giants,
I chanced upon a wonderful sight,

I had been granted an audience,
A once in a lifetime opportunity,
To meet the duke of this wood,
A regal beast of wild aristocracy,
A titanic stag of primeval physique,

Towering over even the treetops,
His antlers scratched sermons into the clouds,
Treatises on woodland matters,
He stood upon ivory legs commanding respect,
Purely demanding reverence from all,

He stared into my urban soul,
As if in pity,
I could only bow,
A newfound awe crosses my mind,
A lord of nature has blessed me,

With a new heart of dew,
Pulsing with vitality/

Wildebeest And Wood Lice

We are not dire wolves,
We do not run in packs,
We’re not predators,
We are wildebeest,
We run in herds,
We are fodder,
Fearful of the brush all around,
Unsafe in our carnivorous habitat,

And like wood lice,
We retreat to our homely crevices,
Unsafe in our forms of chitin,
At the whiff of any danger,
Scurrying away from the intrusive light,
Decrying the suns ambush,
To this world we are prey,
We are wildebeest and wood lice.