With a touch as soft as a feather, a windblown treasure,
With a caress as loving as the breeze, love beyond measure,
An embrace as close as drops of rain, downpour from paradise.
A soul kiss as consuming as all of nature in its own disguise,
A paradox of sorts, for the feather after its touch is blown away
The breeze after its caress leaves forever on its way,
The rain after its embrace is suctioned away by the earth's soil,
The wind after its cold kiss, leaves to cause its sole turmoil,
Nature despite its repute is heartless and cruel,
To the fire of our desolate hearts, adding fuel.
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Nature might not be the caring mother we assume it to be. What do you think ?
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Wordalmania
Poezja#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016
