Man’s Wanderings

Life is a tug of man and his world. Man is a beast that cannot be tamed. Nature the witch that cannot be stopped. His growth is her pain so she cooks up a storm. He builds and dreams and grows and tills. She breaks his bones and grinds all to halt.

The roar of her presence, a brown tired earth. Of hurricanes & thunders, and snow storms & floods. He lashes she cries, so he builds and she burns. The groan of her anger, a world in her cracks. His dreams are on fire from bark and the rain.

And on that day of the strange loud winter; rain became snow; snow combed the city; air was ice; ice falling like white feathers; and in their homes there was no power, no fire; all of technology came to a stop, as the world moved back a hundred years;

Is life a jail of man and his mind? A tale of two warriors that toggle to fall. The fearful sounds of a blank tired space. To live or to die, the struggle to be. The weight of his being, as heavy to bear. From dust he came, and dust he’d be.

Man and his God. Two of a kind. The beast. The witch. The storm. The calm. The hole of his navel a seed of his skin. Be still, be still. The sun will dance. Again.