A poem about nature. |
I sit deprived of a simple love, a pleasure of complexity that hurts my mind as I ponder its demise. A towering construction of evolutionary attainment that upholds the sanctity of humility. The humility it takes to empathize with this nest of biological beauty that demonstrates the essence of purity. I speak of the woods. The quintessence of wonder. For as I find my self there, my mind convulses into a robust flowering of a rare and fleeting happiness rivaled by nothing humanity can provide. However as I said, I am deprived. Alas does my simple love escape me. For I am kept an exhausted prisoner of society. My house a crumbling prison. The people, wardens and watchmen. And I, serving a life sentence. But, separated by an expanse of seemingly undying time, there are those aberrant moments. Climacteric moments in which I am gifted with the presence of my prodigious wild beauty. And in those brief moments, I lose myself as my mind is enveloped with the aura of the sweetest contentment. Contentment that can only be found within the machine of nature. A machine of immaculate parts. The worms, writhing architects of the soil. The birds, sirens of a sultry melodious bliss. All components of this perpetual, all encompassing, emotion-soothing machine who's cogs and gears melt my soul into everlasting mesmerizing euphoria. The euphoria of the forest. |