The Pebbled People

Nature is indifferent to passing time,
It introduces the world, sky and sea,
As an innocent place for passive bystanders
They only see with passing glances.
They only see with simple thought and non-evaluating voices.
A person that sees in black and white,
Calling the sea to blue, when gray, green, purple, and white light bleed so much stronger.
Seeing the sky as a blackened mass of memories and blinking stars;
All in tranquil peace,
Where time moves only as a rhythm for each spraying wave and solitary cliff.
Natural elements not yet compared to our own thoughts and bleeding hearts,
Our own pain and misery, here we only see,
At such a passing glance
A sea with a moon and stars all rippled in black.


They bids you to listen to the overwhelming roar,
Now past the glancing blow, that at one point had been directed towards the churning current.
Now we see’s how nature reflects our own emotions,
Both melancholy and sad.
As the sea flings away its pebbles to the shore,
As though the pebbles themselves are only sad thoughts and memories
To be forever held within the sway and sucking current of a swelling sea.
Because the shore will not hold onto human misery,
For it is only an element of the earth, unnoticing of both sadness and joy,
It churns only because that is its past, present and future.
It churns for lack of anything else, because what passes as a year for human kind,
Passes as a moment for Natures birth.

A metaphorical resemblance between the churning sea and flinging rocks of nature
To that of human emotions and pain.
Misery is flung from our bodies with hate and detest,
Yet nature can do no more than change to fit that of the human eye.
When one is calm and feeling peaceful,
The sea then resembles a rhythmical mother’s lullaby in the sounds of distant roars and spraying sea. When one is angry and their thoughts consumed of turmoil,
The sea resembles the angry monster of their mind.
One then may come to the conclusion,
That nature only reflects the human heart.

The faith, any form of worshipping and escape from a war torn country
Has dispersed on fleeting white wings.
At one point in life faith played the part of a well nurtured body,
Like food, belief in a better place with God as a constant companion was safe,
A place where the human soul was able to be cleansed and impenetrable.
But no longer is religion a vital need,
No longer is it an intoxicating relief from a stressful sink,
The plug forever jammed in the hole of escape.
Those that do attend mass on a regular base’s believe themselves
Uprooted from the vile world and hypocritical reflection of good and evil.
Placing themselves, unheeding, above others of a depleted world and depleted faith.
No longer does God represent a saving grace,
No longer do words hush in prayer,
And no longer does human nature require The Lord to be held in high esteem.


But, even though lack of faith and love blanch our world with fear and dread,
Like the roaring sea’s of our forever changing shores,
One can still love.
The naked eye of a human does not look any longer to see if love exists.
And so, with tears and anger, all assume that it, therefore, is no longer existent.
But they would be wrong.
Questions prove them wrong.
Why would a man or a woman fight for a country in a war torn heart,
If not for love of a country and its people?
Why do wedding bells still proclaim in a churning swirl of white dresses and Biblical words
If not to show the world that love still exists?
Why do parents hold tight to their beasts the sweet butterfly breathe of a new babe,
Clutching gingerly to the fragile form of a blessed soul as though the glass of a child’s newness might,
At any moment, shatter?
Because of love.
Our world consistently proves to itself that love exists.
By the soft brush of a mothers finger tips,
The calloused squeeze of a grandmother’s last words,
The tender cry of an unknowing child to be silenced by a tender promise
Disguised as a kiss.
It is the promise that they can love too.
Because nature loves to listen to itself churn with spraying salty sea
And the birds find joy in a simple spring morning song,
And the grass loves to whistle in a caressing tune as the western winds
Pull forward the rumbling black clouds of a cleansing storm.
Nature reflects emotion in falls red colors
And winters white light
And summers hot heat,
Just like that of a blood red thrumming heart,
A new babes white skin,
And the comfort of a fire on a cold winters eve, snuggled into the cradle of a lovers arm.
Next to the swelling lullaby, that is the equivalent of the sea.