SCORCHED EARTH
Lightening strikes the dry brush
The air is thirsty
Dead foliage stand as they fall
In a state of dying the forest floor begs
The stripping is coming
Sparks fly against wood, leaf and moss
Golden flames lick the dry season
And fires blaze here and there
Until the forest is ablaze with cleansing
That looks like tragedy
Everything feels the heat of change
The dead burn away
The new awaits its command
Scorched earth
Nature's cleansing ends as the winds
Finish the work of taking away
That which does not serve anymore
Blackened earth lays smouldering
All wildlife know something
New things are on the way
The heavy clouds empty
Sky water saturates the thirsty earth
The bald landscape is waking up
The sound of water is new life
Scorched earth
Our lives are like the arid regions of woodlands
We teem with deadened skin that feels nothing
We try to hide the thirst
And the dryness of old versions of ourselves
Clinging to the convenient but dead
Life strikes the dried places of us
And the raging blast does its work
Nothing is spared but the permanent
Then the rains of freshness fall
Something new begins to appear
Beneath the charred remains
A green sapling rises gently to the surface
New skin grows and feelings emerge
We realise nothing new without the experience of
Scorched earth
©zari alexxanderr-caine 2018
#blackpoetboy
Photo credit: Pinterest
Abe’s to ashes and dusts to dust...we are the scorched Earth....as a metaphor of sorts...we cling to the external creations of our existence. Much of what we have created and ignorantly deemed as truth is proof positive that our lived existence is all too often a semblance of the Earth itself...external.
ReplyDeleteThe new skin, as I see it, is simply the recognition of our trueSELF..that which can never be patched or scorched.
The new things are always the works of the remembering of who we are actively coming into fruition. Never has it not been in existence....it’s simlply been unseen by the naked eye. The green sapling arising are the eyes of the spirit, beholding what the naked eye can never see.
The thirsty Earth, of which our external frame is from, is envigorated when the waters of truth are recognized, from the wellspring of the soul.
Thank you RGoff. A poem does unearth different gems in the reader and the poet.
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