The way nature works is so majestic that it can’t be explained in a laconic sentence.

The lucid night finishing its lurid murder of broad daylight in day’s own light.

Night sits on earth as it waits for daylight to hit.

As time passes by the gallant night makes way for daylight to take its rightful place on the thrown.

That’s the way nature works.

 

Like fallen soldiers the sun rises.

The spectrum of the sun gives the gift of life and warmth to the earth.

The light kills and allays the earth’s suffering.

Such a wonderful and saccharine moment.

But like in life there are moments that spoil.

But that’s the way nature works.

 

A storm comes uninvited.

The storm kibitzes during its own tragedy.

The chirpings of birds and the thunder formed such a contrapuntally unpleasant, screeching sound.

The cold, improvident, lyricism down pour of tears hit earth.

But like to all the seasons time is not on its side.

The sun attenuates the storm and right away it absconds from the scene.

In its trail it leaves a raffish mess.

That’s the way nature works.

 

Like storms seasons as well occur.

Fall passes with its tears And its repertoire of fiery colored leafs.

Winter makes its way.

A sharp, coarse, cold wind blows.

The residue of rain freezes,

And soon the indolent snow falls slowly Forming a kind of gossamer.

That’s the way nature works.

 

The feeling of the inert winter soon wears off

And then the depletion of the snow begins.

Spring comes then summer;

Nature is beautiful albeit bipolar.

 

Nothing can compare its rare touch,

The touch that leaves a mark on the fertile soil.

Nature always works well with every element,

It always has its own back Unlike man,

Man just turns and bites the edge of happiness.

 

It has the same choices man has It could either plant happiness or ridged grief.

I use to think nature was all natural,

But I was wrong, It’s just made up of confusion and fixed like man.

 

How can such pure beauty be ignored?

Rejected,

Abused,

And even mentally abuse.

 

Is there something wrong with it?

That it has to be judged for its misunderstood beauty.

Just tossed to the side, Abandon, like if it were and undesirable creature.

 

Was it something it did?

Was it something it said?

Was it something it was trying to be?

Or was it simply that you wanted it gone?

 

Revenge,

Revenge is what drips from its lips,

What swirls in its orbit.

But yet has the power to keep it hidden

And locked in hell.

 

Time ticks and the seasons start again,

So does the abuse.

It never fails that it will rain,

Nor that man would beat it.

 

Fall comes,

And along with the leafs,

It brings shame.

Nature will never be the same.

And man would just act like it never came.

 

No one sees that,

No one really, truly cares.

As much as they say sorry,

Their resentment is false.

Fall passes again,

Winter blows in.

What falls are beautiful frozen puffs of depression.

The silent breaks the wind And the moon sets the mood.

 

A long day, a peaceful night;

Nature takes its rest from its misery.

The moon drifts away and comes the gleaming light.

Nature awakens from its hibernation

And sees the new day,

A new start,

New opportunities.

 

It smells the aroma of fresh life.

Nature is gay,

Nature has a say;

“Spring is the prime season in which chances seem to be in hand.”

Flowers grow Just like man.

It has its ugliness, and sin

But also has grace.