Tag: nature

Fields long dead

The grass, lilting amidst speckled sun and steady breeze;
Laughs and puts forth its vibrant color for the world to see;
Amidst the knotted trees whiling away their closing years;

Children of the melting snow, knowing only ever-brightening days;
Each blade knows not the history, the joy, the tragedy;
That fields long dead were witness to;
Covered in petals, spring snows, the checkered picnic blanket;
The bare feet of men new to this world;
And the boots of a dying man, laid to rest with his bayonet;

Oaks sag with the weight of history, and;
Gaze upon the young grass that will soon wither;
As a thousand fields have done before their arching branches;

It is best to leave them to their play;

The Wild weaves its throne

The towering cliffs flinch;
When the waves crash upon them, grasping;
For they know that none;
Can resist the sea;

Elegant furrows, living in a paradise;
Of perfect order;
A hundred thousand seasons pass;
The plows crumble;
Into feeble rust;
And the Wild weaves its throne from;
Vines and moss once-shunned as chaotic;
And imperfect;

This Earth is not a sphere of glass;
Where every shape is kept in stasis;
The world is built;
To be destroyed- it is alive;
And nature is its blood.

A glorious victory

When the mountain fissures empty;
And all the iron of the world;
Glows hot on the anvil;
Before the hammer shapes it;
Into the sword of all mankind;

Wood, etched with a thousand stories;
Of a primal time when;
We looked to the stars and found;
Our past selves;
The trees lament;
As they fall to the loam;
From whence they came in centuries past;

The farmers till the undulating hills;
Where ripe wheat and trees brimming;
With succulent fruit are stripped bare;

After some time the bodies of;
Humble men litter the fields;
Where the wheat once wavered in the wind;
And the Earth’s bounty lays beside them;
Weapons for a grand crusade;

A plump man decked with feathers;
Immaculate in every manner;
Will survey the forest of corpses and declare;

“A glorious victory”;

Its contours ever darkness-scarred

The sun does droop with epic effort;
Land alight for another day;
Slowly sways beyond hills to slumber;
Amidst encroaching gray;

Each shade of the day retires;
First bright citrus fades away;
Then complex tones of earth and blood;
On dancing meadows lay;

The disc, alight, does bid adieu;
Followed by its color guard;
Until the land grows cold and quiet;
Its contours ever darkness-scarred

A night so dark that even flame is frightened;
Into a dull monotone;
Where the Earth exhales, and slowly whispers;
The sacred mantra om;

Here I stand [poem]

Here I stand;
As saplings flap and dance in speckled light;
Then grow coarse and woody;
And become the blue-gray sentinels that watch, silent;

Here I stand;
As the cliffside smarts;
When the salted fists crash against its rocky skin;
And the crags wear smooth;
Reaching old age as but pebbles;

Here I stand;
As the old mill, long closed and shuttered;
Creaks and groans in a crescendo;
Consumed by a creeping rust, until nothing remains;

Here I stand;
As the stars extinguish, one by one;
The sky grows unfamiliar;
All that has is gone and done;
And yet, here I stand;