Man and Nature vs. Nature

Dead Forest

I am surrounded by death.
The trees, barren and smothered by cold,
Stand as a testament
To the failure of Mother Nature;
And though Persephone has returned,
Demeter still mourns,
The leaves blanketing the earth
Her tears.

Looking around,
Perceiving what should be—
The product of a blooming spring—
I see only wilt
And the consequence of striving;
The crisp death concealing the world,
The rotting flesh of inadequacy—

To say all is dead
Would be to prevaricate;
The trees still produce,
And stand tall, grasping for the heavens,
But there is no flourishing,
No beauty to behold.
They are, in essence, merely existing.

In this spectral perception of nature,
I see reflected myself;
For all the striving,
I am beaten by forces unstoppable,
And though my labors bear fruit,
It is bland to the taste.
While I appear to be alive,
It is a bare, dead existence.




I am a parasite, a disease,
A corruption never meant for your world;
Eons I have traveled,
And light-years across the cosmos,
Seeking what you, in infirm mind
And demarcated myopia, can never assimilate.

I have suffered your invectives millennia quondam,
Yet my petitions were never heard;
Ever a calamity I am—
Albeit effulgent and heralding salvation—
And so cannot aspire toward acceptance,
Nor invoke compassion or sentiment.

Is it so profane to be
Something disparate, a creation misconceived?
Tell me, you of veneration,
Am I the portrait of beauty as a prisoner,
So alien to your custom,
Or do I instill fear, a mirror of your turpitude?

I have suffered this denunciation ad infinitum,
And been the object of scorn for my ambition;
I admit, like you—so foul and baseless—
I have my limits, and they’re shattered with iniquity,
And if your approval I cannot have,
Your world, cold and dead, I shall lay to ruin.