Natural Poem by Christopher Fladd

Grass will grow and flourish, feeding
All of those who pass by, thinking
On nowhere through nothing, breathing
Life with no real name.
Grass will grow and nothing more
It dies and is reborn, witness
To ground on which all thought is set.
Barren Earth came forth to them
Surprising those unborn to be
Foreboding. As though waking from a dream
Too real to be dream.
Yet waking into sunlight, making tides, the ride,
We can only be visiting this place.
Blizzard, wildfire, each will play once we have left,
Futile, in them children playing games in their graves
Ashes, snowflakes, individual,
All too Indecipherable. Adult,
The aged child, still naive, with pride sets forth
Upon mountains seeking freedom
Often then they leave them. Grass can’t top a frigid rock.

Where are the roots that clutch, wild grass to ground
Made of flame, ash and snow? Son of man
You know nothing of this, only the bliss of
Finding one’s self natural now, that of Earth
Cultivated by your hand. Thee, a keeper, son of man
Enforcer of something buried deep within
Illusion begotten in the head.
(Mind foreshadows design for our demand)
You will be the creator of her and love her,
The future bequeathed you, happens beneath you.
In the movements of times trick, dancing before you
Only to tease, please and leave you with the dusk.
Flung like the wind
In transit to
Some unknown plans
Who became you?
The bright hyacinth worn on your suit
Dead wisdom of beauty so open.
Who has winter beat, if any, would hibernation count?
You vote not, by why when you… have met death
Wicked silence caused by wicked truth;
How can the living ever know death?
Simply stated, we will all find out, wont we?
When we wake rot through.

Monsieur Sosostris, a pinch less famous,
Than his wife the clairvoyant
Is proven to be just as fake a person though
Not a fake you find in stores. Walking dolls,
But more like a passage in a jazz song improvisation.
(Their graves both lie in poem)
Vocalization made them and has yet slain them.
Utterance betrayed one.
Here is a noble sacrifice and the twist
For a restless and weary eye watches kids,
Unblinking and unthinking stares at all who lack
Capability to lie before a standing room.
With the morbid “fear death by my hand”
Each blade of grass shakes together waking free wind.
Such a novel idea should be written
While writing is free and not forbidden.
One must be so careful these days…

Legal tender,
Supported by muscle and might of man.
Lacking in strength gold became redundant,
When man unsheathed atomic hell on earth
And with it gave the end a new birth,
Puts folds in fields of life both big and small.
The grasses burn and wave throughout it all
To die and to return, once all that burns, burns.
Man are not remembered but are discarded
As our trash spins endlessly into the milky-way.
Work of great men is all but history and then,
The Barren Earth came forth unto them again.
So to the peaceful goes the whole wide world.
As is natural until it is turned
Into a tool from which it is burned
‘You! Hypocrite lecteur! -mon semblable, -mon frere’