Writer1326

I’ve always held my creative side dear to me. 

Cherishing every spur of creativity, 

However I still took this feeling for granted. 

When the stress of the word planted–

Mother Earth holds us all in her arms,

engulfing us in a comfortable beauty.

She keeps us safe,

as we travel around the sun.
 

She’s gifted us the oceans and lakes,

the mountains and hills,

The fire dances with the trees, 

With no stopping, it spreads.

A horrific sight, indeed.

In the wake of this inferno, 

Growing up, music was always a constant. 

Then, it meant very little to me. 

It was only background noise, but always there. 

With the crashing tide,

And wisps of wind, 

Rain melts all there was. 

And all that will ever be. 

As water rises in the sea. 

Moving mountains,

Falling fountains, 

Whispers of time,

And whatever is mine. 

Holding power,

A complex shower,