Under all of this.
Storm swell,
washed up detritus.
Wildfire
desolation.
Smoke and ash.
Warfare,
cities laid to waste.
Not even very far.
Beyond the mud,
cooked layers,
and blood and oil.
Just beneath,
we will always find
clean soil.
Push on a few years,
the Earth consumes
our fate,
like an old scar.
Dirt nurtures the seed,
that grows the tree
and soon,
even memory becomes hidden
by a new forest.
All there will be
is deep green
thick canopy.
No one will know
that in amongst the new growth
lays the evidence
of our ruin.
Tragedy befalls,
but even tragedy
is a fleeting thing
in the eyes
of nature,
of cycles,
of life
that measure time
in cosmic turnings.
These wounds
will heal.
We will rise
from the dirt.
DJR – 2023
