I write poetry cause it flows in me,
Headlong rush on the ocean beach,
Blinding my eyes in the blizzard freeze,
I am nature’s seed
—Sense magnified—
For these words I lead.

Green, lush, verdant, gardens abound,
Surrounding me with their luscious leaves,
Cravings mum under this untrimmed tree,
“This is paradise”
There is no fee.
“This is paradise.”
Why aren’t I free?
“This is paradise.”
I hear it telling me.
But, why? Why, I ask,
Is there work for me?

“Cause nature is chaos.
The mind is order,
It knows where to find the line,
Whereas a vine
Will never respect the border.”

But I am so small
And very weak,
I turn my eyes to the sun,
Followed by bowing meek.
How can I compete, control, or ravish that?
To her I am but nothing,
No different than a gnat.