PORTENTOUS PROGNOSIS

If Mother Nature could speak… I’m the first light of dawn setting fire to the skies, the awe that ends with a soft, sated sigh. I’m the slow, gentle sway of ancient, lofty trees, branches of life filled with wonders to be. I am sands and seas; a warm summer breeze blowing soft, whispered tunes…

OH, MOTHER

Deep in the shrouding mists of time I search for your smiling face. Mother, tell me, where have you gone and why did you leave no trace? Who will now hold my trembling hand in the dark of the dawning night; the thunder; the rumble of terror on high and the flash of unholy light?…