the surroundings breathe

The vast surroundings

breathe

beautiful, soft, gasping breaths

the air settling gently

into the black atmosphere,

low clouds rolling, early in pregnancy

with a rattling storm

the wind picking up,

the taste of the air changing,

guttural howls in the distance,

nature’s song — or swansong -

engaging and chilling

simultaneously.

-

All of history has guided us here,

all of the endless

love and violence,

every breath taken

by any who ever lived

has been gathered or utilised

to create

what we breathe now.

-

The bodies

pile high,

the ground is filled with corpses

like landmines,

blood slick upon

the streets like

fine rain,

monuments are not enough for them,

and the infinite sky

is disrupted by brick and wire

and the hope of have nots

is skilfully choked by those

who have.

-

It is easy to give up, it is easy

to surrender,

it is easy to kneel down and

place your limp wrists upon the Earth

facing up to the sky and begging

for a mercy

afforded to so few.

-

Nature sings its song,

and you are one of a billion instruments

swaying in delicacy

the sun sees you and burns brighter,

its embers

alive

breathing, too,

and dancing.

-

The nausea you feel

is bitter and large,

but so small

and forgotten

in the face of winding seas of grass,

-

step away from the concrete

and listen to the Earth’s breathing

-

remove the wires plugged into

your skin,

-

and hear the wolves

howl into the setting sun,

-

the beginning of all sound,

imagine the beginning,

the silence

and imagine the now,

burning and bleeding

-

and find yourself

detached and alive

a singular being

not attached to anything,

truly free,

a toy to yourself

in unison

with beauty’s very

definition.