Feeling

1

All night, the rain did fall,
Perhaps the winds were fierce, after all.
The grass is damp, and branches torn,
Scattered leaves, the earth adorned.
Seeds are covered—hidden, deep—
Waiting for the seasons to sweep.

Time will pass, and they will grow,
Through rain and wind, the sun’s soft glow.
The cycle yet remains to see,
A journey still—what will they be?

2

This fire—burns so bright,
Turning damp to dry, and dry to night.
Ashes left where once was life,
Nothing escapes its searing strife.

Then the ashes—carried away,
By currents, swirling, in disarray.
It tosses, rolls, with restless plea,
Reaching shores, wild, to be free.

But when it strikes the stone, the rock,
It fades into the depths, a fleeting shock.

3.

It readies all—
For growth, for bloom, for fall.
One hue slips into another’s fold,
The playful pink of morning’s gold
Turns to noon’s harsh, burning light,
And fades to evening’s languid sight.

As dusk unwinds, the moon does spill,
Its light scattered, against the still.
The dark night waits, so deep, so vast,
To gather all that's left, and cast.

It seems as though—
A longing so much more than scatter,
A need to change, to shape, to matter.