The Falls

I look out and I see the water fall

off the edge of tall, jagged stone,

yet I’m untouched by the mist’s shawl

because in this crowd, I feel alone.

Reach out to me for I don’t feel you,

the bustling people are too rowdy.

Cry out to me for I don’t hear you,

the circus music blasts too loudly.

Sometimes I cannot see you as well,

The blaring lights pollute my view.

If the noise would silence, it’d be swell,

for I want antiquity, not shiny and new.

But wait! Oh, I think I felt this place!

Close enough, I finally may understand

how shattering power intertwines with grace

with the brute force that binds water with land.

The Earth itself does not whisper gently,

it is the echo of a loud, thundering roar

that has cried out for millennia, unceasingly,

letting us taste the little of what is more.

This more is being the test of time,

of proving the utter insignificance of Man,

that no poem, painting, song or rhyme

can portray the Earth as Earth itself can.

Hell’s army of liquid life rages off a cliff,

sculpted into the world through the planet’s might,

to accidentally horrify and inspire, if,

one can get close enough to the sight.

Why’d it take so long to feel this way?

Am I alone to think it all superfluous?

There’s nothing else to see, nothing else to say

to realize Nature is bigger than us.