The heavens billowed, and stars twinkled
The moon, spread its celestial light;
Scars of senility etched on its face
Yet, nonetheless, a breathtaking sight.

Not a soul to be seen, i sat, recluse
Wishing upon the shooting stars
To learn wisdom, nature had to offer;
That stars spelled out in cryptic verse.

The caressing breeze rose in the rushes,
Carrying the cool of the creek
The ancient oak stood with pride,
Whispering wisdom to those who seek.

Listening closely to the murmur of the leaves
I searched amidst the orbs that shone.
To this beriddled celestial enigma
I sought to unearth the Rosetta stone.

Yet the truth that seem'd close at hand
Emblazoned across the star strewn sky,
Like a hanging mist, it caught my gaze
Just to evanesce, in the blink of an eye.

A pile of rubble, though everything was,
Serene; though all had crumbled to dust...
I looked around in disbelief and awe
Calm now ; at length the storm's passed.

'When and by what benediction,
Did this agony to bliss transform !'
I thought, ecstatic ; unsuspecting
I'd plunged to the eye of the storm.

Thunder pealed from heavens above
and the clouds a canopy drew,
the drenched trees vigorously swayed
as stronger, the gusty winds grew.

Rage, rage, O storm, blow away
the sorrows and her grieves
bring order through chaos,
as Gaia, in her anguish heaves.

Vent your dolour, unleash your fury
upon prodigal, profligate humanity,
that, the Earth's chastity has sullied,
Besmirched it with utter profanity.

Let your whistling winds vociferate
her plight; thunders, her wrath dispense
let your soothing raindrops nourish
the ailing Earth back to convalescence.

What ails you, o youthful soul ?
An indelible writ, some trecherous dole?
The delusion, that is fate's generous design;
Or, some disowned yearning, you repine?
There, in the depths of the unseen
Athwart the moist groves, lush and green
With mirth flows the meandering brook,
Glistening with myriad shades, forbear, look ...
Here is an ethereal solace bestowed,
Unbreached by woes, is this tranquill abode.
In this serene woods, unspoken and kind
Abounds, what you desperately seek to find;
A moment's succor, a touch of the divine...

And what grieves you, frail, senescent being
The gloomy dusk, past the bountiful spring?
Mayhaps, the meagre share of ill-spent time,
Some futile persuits, worth not a dime...
There in the glades, the pansies bloom,
Gleeful, sans a hint of imminent doom,
Come summer; when spring shall fade
Those gay petals shall wither, ashen and dead
And yet they bloom, though death is nigh
The unassailable fate; do they ruefully deny?
The wherefores of being, who can wholly discern?
Well, dust we were and to dust shall turn...
In earth and clay shall our being, to eternity sublime.