Battle Air
Smoke fills up the feeble valleys,
the Eden Gardens, the skin of the most holy,
the lakes of purity, the baptismal waters,
the face of the emerald earth
with the air from the northern battlegrounds
where nature went to war with herself,
her evil that lives deep down in the
chasms of Gomorrah at war with the
divinity that reigns over her emerald gardens,
the pure air that fills the lungs of the blessed,
her burning timbers lashing out at the
beauty of the clean faces of the divine order,
marring the saintly skin that watched over it
as she spread her wrath about the land,
her parched fields vulnerable to the ire of the
blazing sun and the wayward winds
igniting her trees that she built up
through the long years and now
reduced to smoldering embers that mar the
beauty of the vibrating forests,
the smoke penetrating the southern lands,
moving over the succulent fields,
drifting with the winds that guide it along
as if the winds were the works of
the prince of darkness from the evil side
that festers in her soul,
the conflicts that she thinks her way into
as she builds up her opposing armies from within,
just like humanity at war with itself,
building up their armies to
fuel the deeds of their opposing destinies.
But Mother Nature always seems to atone
for her malicious deeds with the rains
that come just in time to quench the fires
and supply the nitrogen from them
that sinks into the soil to resurrect the latent fields.
So what do we humans do about our malicious deeds?
This is about the smoke that covered up the northeastern part of America this week from the forest fires in Canada.
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