Musty smell, earthy hands,
As distant eyes seed the soil.
Nostalgia would one call it?
A rose even with thorns shivers,
Midst the joyful breeze's chill.
Sun hides and birds fly away,
Lets the Mother's charisma take over;
Grey, billow clouds conquer above realms,
As thunder and lightning play war.
Day darkness isn't always a foe,
But nature's another thriller.
Violent waves clash in excitement,
Swaying the ships within.
And overwhelmed breeze roughens,
Whilst bending the fire bolts.
It's the spark of exuberance not foreshadow,
Owning the joy of facing challenge,
And a chance to become strength;
What joy is joy with no thrill nor tingle?
What is courage with no fear to fight off.
And what is sunshine and rainbow,
With no prior storm to begin with?
Heavy winds and airy rumbles,
Lightning sings aloud;
Tearing apart the open sky,
Flashing strokes of its bright art;
Illuminating unknown tints across,
Midst the wild dark yonder.
Open sky and open sea sunsets,
A sight to never leave.
Nor is darkness of the night fall.
Once nature beat mans inventions,
And taking away the false lit fire,
Then there man opens his eyes;
Looks at the world from height.
Sees what has always been there,
But for the first time.
The detail in the darkness,
And of the depth of an open sky.
A longing for a starry night,
And a sight of the Milky Way.
A beauty that is valued,
Once distance pulls it apart and away.
Balcony cement fence,
Its bells dance, singing the omen.
A lesson and thrill
an oncoming storm triggers.
A rose even with thorn shivers,
As of now, the first raindrop shatters
And so begin the heavy rains.
