Grey skies adrift
hover over pools of light;
windstorms scatter tree branches,
leaves, even trunks,
along the levee
that is bare with footprints;
scarce birds seen soaring
through yellow water
and purple air,
as in some kind of mocking dance.

What beauty can be found in brutality…
Nature’s unforgiving nature;
the Universe indifferent to collective consciousness,
though I am sure She respects it.
We are nothing.
We are nothing.

Just when Nature’s climax has been reached
and skies turn clear,
following the example of water,
perhaps, to closely,
a gentle drizzle permeates the air,
as in some kind of mocking dance.

What beauty can be found in brutality…
That which ignores humanity’s diurnal cycle;
that which knows no time;
She who has no respect for it.
We are nothing.
We are nothing.

Brinn W.

This poem was created and written by Brinn Wallin. Please do not steal or copy without permission. 

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