It doesn’t care if you are glad, mad or sad. / Nor that it causes man to sweat and swear; / If it leaves him attired only in his underwear….
Weather doesn’t consult with the wizened or the simpleton of its patterns
Bronchial canopies / Randomly rooted systematically / Supporting life in many angles / Waving their outstretched arms / Towards the gods in …
I never really write that much poetry, it’s one of those things that have to grab and pull you in. It takes a certian sort of inspiration to encourage poetry for me. I do not know why that it is, but I feel that I have to be on a certian level of understanding before I write about something. Although this is less personal then some of my other work the same rule applies. I wrote this yesterday while on the bus, it came out form nowhere. It’s about natures prorities and how we all seek different elements in life to survive. I wrote this about many of the national parks I have been to in South Australia, observing nature do what it does best (survive.)
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