fearnottheshadow

Natural selection is... a river between two farms. One shall wash away and leave his neighbor without harm, Depending upon how well each one has tended to the soil - The way that each has nourished roots with blood and sweaty toil. But sometimes, in its unforgiving drive for balance, nature Defies all karma and both farms still lose all they wager.

Erosion   -Marcus Maneval Winds upon the dune; tides upon the shore; Time upon me, eroding forevermore. Winter grew deep roots in me before my leaves turn'd autumn. They rot, returning to the Earth, before their age of aurum. The forest has grown thick with thorns, enshrouding all the path. The scenery transmutes and I don't recognize the strath. The wolves have escaped my nightmares to pursue me through the day. They push me to the ocean's edge, converging on their prey. My gaze falls over the horizon, so I turn to face my foes. Their faces morph into true form. They are none but my woes. Each I know all too well. I've named them, eve

This dreary atmosphere of teal blue ovecast Envelops me in a thundering serenity. Flashes of light, in blinks of an eye, tear across the sky. They penetrate me, but I am not burned. chorus: The torrential quenching subsides And the people fall back into the ebbs of their tides. Drifting to and fro in such patternized movements. Such creatures of habit, the backdrop scenery of mankind. Pouring rain in broad daylight; Such a beautiful phenomenon. Every lifeform in the troposphere Tips a glass to the heavens. (chorus) breakdown: Damn stagnation, nemesis of wanderlust. For all the times When the train to nowhere Led me exactly w

I tread upon concrete and feel as though it all shall fade, But upon this soil, I fear not, for it’s future God has made. The days press on; black and white mice gnawing away the limb, But this place seems to transcend time; It’s future, never dim. I remember my grandfather built a swing So I could learn to fly; But long after that swing had returned To this soil, so have I. I once lived in a house that he constructed with his heart and hands. I now return to what he left behind, these tranquil lands. These vines surrounding me root part of my soul to this place. I plunge into these woods as my footsteps I retrace. I on

My heart is in November and my mind is adrift; Glancing from one thought to another and back. The aging of the year, and the shortening of days Warms my soul in the mild autumn chill. A leaf that dies and falls from it's place Collects fresh dew for a small one may thirst. Thus, Nature provides for purpose after death, And nothing that is lost is frivilously discarded. The timid creatures residing in these trees Walk with liberty in my proximity. They sense benevolence as well as malcontent; A trait that in humans, is bent to distrust. Such common beauty of nature is overlooked. So many look to the ground in lieu of such glory.