Contrive

The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears to hear it. - Thoreau

Spoken into big-bang existence.

Conceiving luteal land and fertile waters.

Nuclear sun radiates its tan.

Oh, foolish, fickle man.

Sacred sea copulates with an antique shore.

Faith ebb and flow.

Ever wanting more.

Soulful clouds ride the indelible sky.

Never wanting to die.

Never asking why.

Truth buries its head in sand.

Thin flesh and vacuous blood will never understand.

No need, as long as mortality can.

Until thunder and lightning descend.

All part of a divine plan ...

... with an eternal end ...

Author's Note

"The birds I heard today, which, fortunately, did not come within the scope of my science, sang as freshly as if it had been the first morning of creation." - Thoreau