Campus Submissions cont'd

Entry 2:

Son to a Mother of Benevolence

A quiet suppressed feeling is a rolling boil, simmering
Cycles have passed and nostalgia I am awash with
This Summer day is the same as any other,
Yet it is true to itself, an unwavering soul

I am feeling restrained, withheld
It is impossible to locate, pinpoint this feeling
But I know I cannot fly
My  beard is not even a solvent to this glue

The drops begin to commensurate me into their arms
Nature envelops me in her love
Touching me with calming warmth and cooling breath
Misting me, ensuring that I am keen to her presence

The grass grows and tells me that I am safe
Today will not be the slaughter of a drought

The cool pervades sweltering heat and meshes with my body,
A perfect cycle is around me – and within me

She becomes more aberrant, punishing with streaking hail
She is more difficult to cope with, yet I bear witness

I continue to weather her with my manmade
Devices, bestowed to me by her majesty
My awning and armchair protect me
The roaring boil smoothes to a simmer again

And continues to nourish the kingdom
Mushroom caps become as trees, tall, vast
The stench becomes mellow and moldy
And it comforts me

Soil becomes muck, and sets the mood for dreariness:
So long as the attitude we hold is of want

Want for comforts, and shelters
Want for mud free carpets
Want for dry clothing
Want for liberation from that which allows the stalks
To grow, be eaten, nourish, and be recycled

I find myself being consumed by the sludge
And quenched by the rain
Rivers and tributaries form in the soil
As they erode the ground they’ve fallen upon

I feel well
For time is ever progressing,
And my time is not of want
I live
"Here comes the sun.”