The Creative Act

Tumbling, shale over flint,
With layered granite for a bed,
Set over an orbiting furnace
Stone ledges leapt into the skies,
Soaring o’er the ages,
As nothing else can fly through time,
With crags so slow and sure,
That nought deflects their course,
Excepting just the wind and rain,
Whose constant tribulations will make vain,
The highest climbing mountain peaks of earth,
They casually erode these errant bluffs,
Deferring stone to dust and girth for dearth,
Tumbling now and then into a plain,
That which has risen,
And may yet rise again.

The diamond forms from pressure,
and gleans its gleam from such,
the earth can not contort itself,
nor focus quite as much,
as such steadfast material,
it must be formed and reformed evermore,
reactionary to its core
never content to stay in place
although it roams through outerspace
a boil of activity stirs constantly earth’s scenery
the surface of our atmosphere
will dance with weather’s weary cheer
below the weather still more motion,
man pushing earth and earth the ocean,
when the ocean pushes back man rues his work,
but abandons not his quest to shape
the very world despite – perhaps despite – more apt, ‘because’
of nature’s inconsistency,
a trait at odds with human insecurities,
and getting on not all that well with the maturity,
of our peculiar species, we
that turn the land into the sea, defy imprisoning gravity, and deftly wreak our havoc with an arbitrary majesty.