Sta.sh
battle of colors and wills
and seasons
the branches flail
as two clans of clouds clash
fallen soldiers, the leaves
dance downward
needing no obituary;
Nature always turns
death into life
no greed, no vain crusade
for power, to be abused
no tears, no graves, no mourning
come morning, the sun may shine
or perhaps, the rain and wind will keep
the stronghold of their stormy pact
but still, instead of bloodshed
there will be nourishment
and the un-weak that fall
will only make the union
and blessed harmony, stronger
balance;
if only we fought our wars
like General Gaia.
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Thank you adorable woman.
Beautiful work. I feel very still and quiet now.
for that elusive balance. Thank you most kindly once again.