I am ire
In the land of wrath
And I smile emptiness
On your behalf

I linger, soulless
In the grass
Overgrown
and under pathed
In terror, peril
Paralyzed
I reap the fortuned
And dole demise

I am nature
Cruel and empty
I once was full
But you reject me

I am every sin you've casted
To the wind, now everlasting
I am the dark you dread
I am flagrance, and the dead

This bleak, overcast sky
holds in it a well of condensing energy;
similar to the way one calms down in their deepest despair.

The wind rages with no destination;
it is carried only by what is left behind,
and falls ahead,
flowing blissfully with a current.

The trees have no care;
they thrive off the land and the sky,
the sun blanketing them in warmth
and feeding them to elicit growth.

The animals frolic
back and forth in repetition
only with their most primal desires.

It is only we humans
who concern ourselves
with personal desire and want;
that will be our downfall.

Sometimes,
to simply stop living a fast paced,
reward induced existence
and pay attention to nature
is to realize the value
of forgetting what is
and allowing yourself to simply be.

This is my safe place.

The candid poetic escape
of a beauteous nature embrace
is what I crave

To wander in my nomadic way
And find myself astray
Upon the land's breadth and clay

To live the magick in my mind
And wander every day
And love alone
in the primal home
and listen for the call
of mother nature
in us all
And feel for once
I'm heard
And beauty listens

It's so loud
In this awful town
And people seam
To disconnect
From what was once
our essence

They escape pain
And aimlessly blame
And live in fantasy

They are
ever distracted
By the flashing light
That carries into night
And call me crazy
For wanting only
To reconvene
With my roots

But in my mind I am a poet of myself
And my soul is open to the energies abound
And I am lost within my heart
For I am cast apart
When nature's call to art
Is so far away
And all I've wrought
Is ever sought
In things I cannot reach
Unless I stray alone
Into the nomad's home

To be engulfed in the swell of natural flow
and fleeting above all transit
To be one with the atmosphere
and ever changing

To feel and know
without becoming your own
is to be free

For we who are bound to earthly soil
are rooted in our growth
And those who look down upon us
from an atmospheric lens
can change with the winds of fate

I wish to migrate
with the changing air pressure
And follow warmth to levity
I wish for
a natural compass
Telling me
Exactly
Where I belong

Twas but an arid night of ambiance
They sought in duplicitous reunion
Of the innocent kind
When stars would shine, undermined
And spotless sparkling eyes would watch them blind

We are starbound, on the ground
Never hoping, never found
As those who fleet abound
In space, and leave no trace or sound
Are seeing us and wondering how
We manage to keep ourselves from choking
On these troughs which runneth open
To our feeble mouths

Oh simple scintillation
You are not what I beseech
I wish for truth in energies
And not to look back; to repeat
What I have seen that beckons thee
To hear my call, and ever fall
To what is empty

I see angels
hiding in interesting places
Reading numbers and
forging signs for many
minds upon
passing tides
of energy
I see them
perched
atop their
ethereal pedestals
in astral
in multitude
and bleeding beauty;
magick, which winds
into the arrow of time
I see emotion
crystallize
and bend
the flow to
rend inertia
to the will
of mortals
I am
forever floating
on the tides
of in between
I am
I am
not
I am
but
a vessel
for this
energy
to see
itself

In a forest, dead,
with scattered leaves
Its ground frozen,
and wilted of color
A falcon perches
Unperturbed
By snarling predators
Strung about
Upon the forest floor
The wolf strays
But never loses sight
Of its many allies
Seeking sustenance to share

The wind bellows
Through canopies above
Swaying the trees
To sing their song
Their language lost to time

The deer flee
Adorned in fear
And mystery
No home stays safe

The robin cries
To find its lifeblood
A mate, a partner;
A legacy

The owl
Wise as ever
Stays hidden
‘Til nightfall,
and easy pickings

Crows fly by,
In murderous surplus
Strung amiss on winds
Which tarry absently
Mice hide underfoot
In leaves
and burrows aplenty
Scavenging whatever’s left behind

In peaceful silence,
The songs of life
Break tension

The trickling
Of a stream
Can be heard
in the distance
A forest, dead,
with scattered leaves
Still very much alive
Upon further inspection