The uncertain winds of nature
Are far more comforting
than the brutal carnage of the sheriff's gun
For does it not blow with such deterrence
before devouring what's left for its harness.
The cruel wrath of the mountain's vomit
is far heart soothing
than the heartless words man's tongue can emit
For do they not mammer,
before they gush without manner.
The wild countenance of the bushes fires
is truly mild
Vis-a-vis the brutality of man's generosity
For the fires are candid
and plain in intentions than the honest gestures of the affluent man.
The tormenting tides of mother sea
is assuaging
than the good will behind the soldier's atomic missile
For do the tides not roar ultimatums
with such a tender maternal voice.
The involuntary squirts of the earth
is far tender
than the seraphic cacophonies
of man's impious coitus.
Where does that leave us?
What does that make us?