beyond the drowning of this mess.

I know,
For a natural fact.
Mother Nature is not done yet.

That she’s alive inside every breathe I take.
From the tree, taking root
Inside my chest.

To the flower, that blooms,
Inside my head,
Calling out in distress.

“I’m not done yet”

Bubbling up from beyond,
The drowning of this mess.

Living with no regrets.

In a communal union with a Universe
Interspersed within her web.
Which is unwilling,
To let her succumb to her distress.

Because it is in love with her.

Much more,

Then their simple answers would suggest.