I saw power which comes
From a force beyond this realm,
Inciting a fear within,
All the while
Marveling
At the beauty,
Which ferocious nature brings.

Wind inhales the earth
Toward the sky,
Then slams it down again,
While I watch our trees
Of a hundred years,
Shred like twigs
While crying out in pain.

Perspective fails
Within disaster,
While survival rises
With primeval need.
Out of higher notion
Erupts heroism,
A specter of brilliance
Delivered from
Beings who know love.

Within bedlam
We learn what it is to live,
A potent appreciation,
Of what at any moment
Might be snatched away.
Possessions may matter
At calamity’s end,
But while the wind blows,
The ground shakes,
Or fierce flood
Drowns raging fire,
Man faces his mortality,
And fights,
But not to rescue the realm.

Now, a gentle breeze prevails,
Presiding over faded remains,
Demanding, once again,
That we reclaim the remnant,
That, which we once believed
To be our own.
But we are wiser now,
Or at least a portion,
I suppose,
And we know that this world
Reclaims its’ own,
And we are but
Shepherds of the stones.