Suckling Life from our Mother

The drops race each other down the window pains spurred on by the winds howling ovations. These are the days that snag a slot in  heart and mind.  It’s the moments when leaves cease waving and begin their one and only dance towards the blanket of fallen comrades before them. The nights that soak us with warmth because the breeze found someone else to comfort in their moment of sticky adventure. The mornings in which sun and foliage battle for our awe in their spectumed fight. The days where color never showed, yet purity found this hour to cloak the world in flakes of matchless beauty.

Did I revel today? Will I tomorrow? Will time permit escape into mother natures arms? Will life prevent me from enjoying life? The racing drops, falling leaves, endless nights, blooming suns, faultless landscapes. Will time decompose faster than the clock. Mother nature sits on her death bed, praying for a cure for the afflictions we have dealt. Does she know it was her children who poisoned her fruit.

Her canular is in, yet are we injecting? Withdrawing? We know she is sick…terminal even.  Are we giving up the fight for her?

I write for our mother in her time of need. A tribute to her grace and unwavering devotion to the spawn who devour what time she has left. Consuming without enjoyment. A binge on her time.

Adore her dance, revel in her beauty, waltz to her hum.

We are all her suckling young.

M2U

mother_nature__s_child_by_kindoffreak

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