Out of a barren wasteland of death and destruction,
Comes lush and verdant blooms of creation.
Are we so removed from this natural rhythm,
Our corpses fed upon by a hungry schism?
Searching for balance and order, creating false borders.
Seeking purpose and meaning, forever feening.
Purpose built without a clue.
Delusional grip on limited view.
Be stilled in the wild, uncertain what abounds.
Seek out its vibrance, immersed in its sounds.
Find solace, within the flesh of soil.
The final reward, of worry and toil.
This existence, it swallows whole.
Creating new life, freeing the soul.
Cultivate the essence, separate the mind.
Liberate the spirit, for eternity in kind.