I stand out in open air, a bipedal obelisk,
as the sky treads over me with vicious heels.
The wind flares, screaming litanies of jealously past my ears.
It's cool fingers run through my hair,
frantically trying to seize hold of the tattered strands
as they flutter wildy without pattern.
All in a vain attempt to steal my devotion
from the stellar clouds overhead
that float by like giant puffs of smoke from God's cigars.
Like an ignorant flower begging to be picked,
I keep my eyes ever upward,
gazing softly at the white-cotton sculptures
that sail upon our world.
Suddenly, I feel the animosity come swiftly blowing.
The trees bow in fear. Their branches convulse
and cry out as leafy relatives are torn and stripped away
from the tedious lives of comfort they've grown accustomed to;
forced out to wilt and perish neglected by everything
but the sun and it's linear fire light.
The insulted weather catapults cardboard hopes
and plastic bag emotions at me with vindictive fury.
A burst of melancholy air strikes me like a challenging shove, forcing me back.
Faltering steps in an unknown direction deliver me
straight to the jarring, unforgiving surface of the intolerant earth.
As I lay on the tiny green spikes,
arms outcast and hands dug deep in tall tragic grass,
I can sense that it's alive.
The faint pulse runs with mine as if to comfort me
in the meadows of realization.
I stay pinned down for endless minutes while
the global lawn beneath me suffers courteously.
The cruel clear force dissolves after giving me a final shrieking whip.
Once muted tranquility is attainted I stand in complacency,
pride vanquished and a little respect taken
by the thief that can't be seen.
On my insecure feet once again
I happen to glance down at the flattened sketch of my body
left in crushed blades and comprehend, for the first time,
how great an artist nature truly is.
To utilize such vivid colours
and unique landscape canvases:
creating what we crown existance.
My mind is snow.
Thought is drowned out
by the orchestral notes that abruptly fill the park;
played by birds of prayer
and various other singing creatures that form an organic choir.
Measureless talents and nameless scores to perform:
Wordless verses and timeless music;
It has been entertaining man
since before the crafting of the earliest instruments.
Insect composers take over
and I simply remain still and absorb the buzzing rhythm.
As the crickets start their third solo,
a breeze of remorse sweeps by,
with apologetic oxygen for my charcoaled lungs to breathe.
and it pilots me to a pond of innocence.
I look to the surface of the clear virgin water and dare not place a hand in
or let my hideous reflection haunt it's purity for any longer than an instant.
Each ripple sends a euphoric shiver down my spine.
The sight of sheer beauty wrenches on my frayed heartstrings.
I walk away, casting aside the role of corruptor.
Sinless hours pass with each stride.
I watch the essential dusk set down,
kneeling in prayer for the beasts of the night,
and bringing with it a new shade to envelop the heavenly canvas.