Land scaping

The sun has always shone
Even when the wind has blown,
The flowers bloom in turn
As the seasons come and return

The vista is so very wide
From mountains to the lake side
Fauna living on this land
Harmoniously and hand in hand

Each creature has its role
Sets out to achieve its goal
Conflict is so rarely heard
No fights nor a harsh word

I have been lucky with my life
Balanced family, lovely wife
Even when the wind has blown
Misery is hardly known

I’m back, in these, 4 walls  
Before I left, there was paint,  
that covered them all,  
it seems every-thing
That’s bright,  
Just fades and dulls,
 I had it all,  
Now it’s faded and dulled
Don’t worry because  
 
I’m here with the alcohol  
I’m here with the drugs  
I’m here with everyone  
That I’ll never love
They’re what I needed  
I don’t want to need them again
You’re all I’ll ever see no end  
Can’t hear your voice begin  
Or I’ll start remembering  
And lose myself letting you in  
 
I’m back, broken down,  
The Walls vanish,  
so empty and okay with all of this  
the help I turned down  
Words never heard,  
They echo off the walls  
Its all I hear now  
It seems everything that’s bright,  
Fades and dulls
Like these 4 walls that surround  
Everywhere I look consumes And reflects
I was bright  
 
here with the alcohol  
I’m here with the drugs  
I’m here with everyone  
That I’ll never love
They’re what I needed  
I don’t want to need them again
You’re all I’ll ever see theres no end  
Can’t hear your voice begin  
Or I’ll start remembering  
And lose myself letting you in  
 
Now I can’t keep staring,  
at all the white  
I’ll go blind stumble and fall
I had it all, I had it all  
Now I’m faded and dull

(  prose poetry )  
    
     
A storm grows in the high desert, low to the sage with the windy gusts where grass & brush bends, and the air crackles with sparks, and lightning forks fracture like bony fingers across the threatening sky that light up the bird life taking shelter. Till at last the storm splits open, washing everything below aside with a deluge where the moaning of heavenly hosts let loose a warning where the season of fires months before had stripped the trees on the distant mountain rim down to bare twigs and naked earth with spikes where once were trunks of majesty. From eroded hills come the floods, gathering speed as the lightning strobes flash with blinding strikes, and winds howl without mercy.  The downpours seem endless, as iron rails and barrels rattle and roll through angry dark storm clouds. An hour later, the mass is moving on, and the thunder’s rumble is heard less in longer intervals, with the sound of what seems like a thousand faucets, their taps turned on full force as the floods race through the foothills and gullies down to a dry riverbed that suddenly comes alive, taking dozens of tumbleweeds along for the ride, and the intensity of the late afternoon is finally revealed with the last of the storm’s retreat.  The land preens, the Joshua shimmer, while already the flight of birds begins to brighten the clean scapes with their swift surveys for nesting and foraging.    
     
     
     
     
( 20 lines )