Serenity, o, is it ever omnipresent this way out.
What could one
Desire more than
This, glorious splendor?
Vast, ever stretching, without end,
A man could travel for hours, and
Still, would the grand much of it
Be unexplored. Beacons everywhere
Call out, promising new adventures,
Surely not to be ignored.
Tranquility, one wants? Here, tranquility, one hast.
Step forth, savoring soul.
Ocular organs peering into lush corridors, head turning
About to survey all that makes itself known to you.
So soft, is the ground underneath.
Palpable under your bare heel and toes, calloused
Due to all of the rewilding they
Have had to endure.
Moist, damp, fresh.
Peculiar scents meet your nostrils,
Undoubtedly rising up from the soil,
Concocting pleasant vapors that
Filled your lungs.
Molding, it seemed, to your feet,
Not unlike a shoe, or a glove, but
It felt…better. Realer. Purer.
A shiver runs up your spine as
The cooler moisture nestles
Betwixt thy toes, coating
All around. It would seem,
If one could imagine it,
That the Earth itself
Were applying gentle kisses
Upon your trotters. A gentle greeting
Amidst a new morning, as if to say,
“Welcome back, love”.
Verdurous growth mischievously
Tickles the skin underneath,
Dainty growths of floral life
Encompassing the appendage. One could
Be inclined to think it were…dragging
You deeper into its fold. And yes,
It, too, is pleasantly full of
Wetness. Tempting, isn’t it? To
Simply…join it, on the forest bed,
Relax into its hold. An enticing prospect, to be sure.
Yes, it had rained the previous night. You
Heard the drops pitter-patter
Against the walls and roof
Of your home. Lulling you into
Slumber with their comforting,
Yet disjointed, rhythm.
Light breezes blow by,
Caressing your skin
So delicately and tenderly,
Much akin to the arms
Of a doting mother
Pulling her child lovingly
Into her warm embrace on
A frigid night,
Blowing faint whispers
Laced with the promises
You’ve come to expect
Out of this sanctuary. Promises kept, a
Word that never is given
Deceptively. Lies, She tells not. For that is
Not of her way.
Drink in the sights,
Sounds, touches, scents, tastes,
As well as all other profound, delectable delights.
Warmth surges through gatherings of leaves,
Bathing you in a glow of
Golden glory, the eye of Life gazing
Upon thee, offering a contrast to the
Chill of the playful wind. Not harsh,
Not biting, at is sometimes wont to
Do. Nay, merely teasing,
Occasionally raising goosebumps as the
Body is tricked into believing it is colder than is true.
Speaking of both the canopy and undergrowth of
Emerald coloration sprouting forth
From the outstretched arms,
Both large and small soaking
In the radiant beams emanating
Eternally from high on, you are
Surrounded. Engulfed in immense beauty. All rooted deep
Within the ground, tendrils
Buried into the dirt, drinking
Happily. Up and out, is its way. A myriad of shapes
Greets your curious gaze,
Pupils tracing along every curve. No
Artists of the species homo sapiens
Could ever hope to
Replicate something like them. It’d be
An impossible undertaking. Those who
Are arrogant enough to proclaim
Themselves worthy, are foolish. Laugh at them,
Laugh in their faces.
Oh, those sounds. You can hear them,
Can’t you? Clear as day. They cannot
Be missed, not for a moment.
Seems that thou are not alone here.
Older, wiser, tougher, stranger
Emanations from Being, shaped
Through its essence, descended
Down from the immaterial (as all that lives is),
Nestling and settling into
Its new home, through which it
Reaches out, expressing the
Nature of that acausal mysteriousness,
Keeping it safe, sheltering it, invigorating it, that which it is animated by,
A mysteriousness they are intimately connected with,
And you still are trying every day
To understand more and more.
Songs and sentences passing from
Magical throats,
Enchanting
And unknowable
Words
Filling thy ears.
Hear the pitter-patter
Of killer and victim on
The loose. An eternal
Game of chase and be chased.
Fur and feathers of all
Shapes, sizes, and colors
Loom into sight. Somewhat
Similar to witnessing
Objects scurrying along
A canvas.
So unlike you, they are,
And yet, you feel connected
To them, in a way
Words cannot accurately describe.
A kind of knowing
Of a most inherent variety,
Not cultivated, not strived for,
Simply there from the start. All that was
Needed was to rediscover it.
Close by, the peering eye
Of her, gazing from inside,
Into the outside, seeing all
Reflected in her vision. Her creations
Lapping up what they need,
Drinking her in, always carrying
A part of her, wherever they go (although,
They are already of her, and joined
With her in harmony), always bowing their
Heads in reverence when they approach.
Bouncing off of the surface of
The clear orb of our
Great Mother, able to gaze back
Into her, as she is us,
Above is seen below. Clear,
Blue acres suspended, always
Present, never gone. Undisturbed,
Untouched, unmolested, it is allowed its
Own recourse, left to its own devices.
Primordial, perennial,
Everlasting, eternal.
Heaven sent you here,
Guided you back home.
Of course, you came to find out…this was Heaven.
What could be a more perfect setting?
This place, it looks
And even feels the
Same is it did yesterday.
Alas, it also doesn’t.
Little changes, subtle rearrangements. Small to the
Undiscerning eye, but to those who can
Truly make use of their vision, they’re
Unmistakable.
This is not your first encounter
With this realm.
Nay, I think it not; rather,
This be all that you now know. Yes,
Intimately you know thy region of dwelling,
Thoroughly intertwined with it, body and essence,
Like the hands of two young lovers.
Daily, every cycle of
Sun and moon
Grazing along the protective cover
Which allows us
To peer into the depths,
And become lost
In the stars, you
Find yourself
Coming into contact with it,
More and more immersed in its mysteries,
Delving deep, always,
Into the arms of the One.
This, this is your home now.
O, what of that
Lesser home, you once
Belonged to, so long ago?
Perish the thought.
Tis nothing else but
Mere distant memories,
Recollections from a time
Now bygone, in your eyes.
Poorly reflecting on you, as you are now.
Despicable ways you have cast
To the wayside,
Shedding the superficialities of
A world wrong and wretched.
Chains and shackles long since
Ripped from your wrists,
Left in the dust of your wake.
Soul no longer clouded,
Overwhelmed with fog,
Trapped in a daze,
Confused and wandering, ever searching,
Lost in an abyss.
Do you miss it?
Could you miss it?
Nay, you think it impossible.
After all, only a fool could.
Fools pine over the most detrimental of things.
Something stirs on the periphery of
The otherwise serene, near silent setting
Nay, not a sound of here.
She didn’t give way to whatever this might be.
Again, there it is again. Sharp, grating,
Distracting, unlike anything you’ve
Heard in recent times,
Ears unaccustomed to this racket.
The sound, the sound.
Your footsteps plod in the direction
Of the offending crashing and banging, a
Jackhammering pace
Igniting within
Thy chest.
Hypotheses and predictions born
From an immense worry,
Ideas of the worst hurtling
Right into the forefront
Of your mind.
It cannot be.
O Gods, do not let it be so…
Louder, and louder…
Clearer, and clearer…
Backing up, moving forth,
Grinding of gears,
Flapping of lips and tongues and throats,
Whirring of engines,
Valves opening and closing,
Noxious breath bellowing from the belching lungs of the titans,
Rushing veins pumping scalding hot, toxic blood,
The feast of rape and murder,
O, can you hear the screams? Aye, if only thy
Ears were open, able to hear the screams…
Soil ruined for generations.
A floor trampled and torn asunder.
Flora and fauna crushed under metal teeth, digging greedily into Her breast.
Dear God…
The horror…
O, the horror…
Something ignites deep within, a kind of
Bursting forth, as if a bulkhead
Within that wasteful, demonic
Monument to modernity, now
Plunged into the barren, aquatic desert,
Hath broken from the immense pressure.
“Good morning, everyone. Today’s top story…a rather tragic one. Harrowing, shocking; the product of a deranged terrorist, perhaps? Goodness, what is our world coming to. A crew, part of a local logging company, who wish to remain nameless, was found viciously mutilated outside of town, in a historic piece of land that, after being declared to be under preservation and untouched for virtually decades, had been bought out. From what we could gather, it was supposed to be an extension of the town. A new plaza, a new strip mall, a highway, something along those lines. They kept everything tight-lipped, fearing an uproar, if the news were to get out…although, the town has expressed positive sentiments towards growing in size. Guess they wouldn’t want to upset the greens, eh? The company has been working with the local authorities, and vows to find whoever perpetrated this terrible, loathsome act…to justice. And they shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law. If you know anything, see anything, please…contact this number. We have a dangerous killer on our hands.”
A World In Flames 