Posts Tagged ‘nature’

From this lethargic window,
I often look up at the sky,
Tracing dreams in the clouds,
And I see those birds,
Vibrant flocks eloping to freedom,
They leave little pinions of colour,
Like love letters with no recipient,
A rain of sentiment in myriad pigment,

Each feather tells a story,
Of grief and bliss and love,
Recited as I run my finger across,
Silent but clear as day,
The birds fly on lighter,
I’m left behind in the grey,
With this plumage of fables cast off,
A mottle they needed to disperse to reach paradise.

Oh master,
Why have you left me out here?
You disappeared into that storefront portal,
And time has seemed to stop existing,
Days and years shoot by as I sit,
I thought I was your best friend,
I’m a good boy master,
Your furry partner in crime,

You left me some meagre payoff,
This little water bowl of pity,
Not even a doggy treat,
I bark and I call,
My howls growing shrill,
And yet you don’t come back,
It’s cold out here,
And this chain keeps me from finding you.

To read is to commune with nature,
A very personal ritual,
Authors breath life on to these fragments of lumber,
Rejuvenation via ink and quill,
Your eyes scan across the veins of oak,
Hallucinating as you go line by line,
Seeing stars and lands never formed,
A veritable opera of sundry speakers,
Worlds of every ilk imaginable,
Fashioned by a writers madness,
Literary paths left for you on parchment,
The skin of the forest,
Books are the trees talking to us,
Mother Natures voice,
Translated by shamans of the written word.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.