Nature, an array of colors and textures, scenery and landscape,
Relaxing, calming, and soothing give rise to exquisite pieces of soil,
Yet so puzzling and mystifying, Nature unfolds itself little by little, day by day, month by month, year by year.
Every little twirl my head whirls, Nature stares with century old dirt and day old weeds.
It mocks me, ridicules me, and teases me to coward in disgrace.
In the middle of the desert lives the central blotch of anguish and fear,
In the middle of the desert I lose my way,
In the middle of the desert lies the prison of it all.
One comes happy and content, yet leaves miserable and lost.
In a place meant for life and vitality, it quickly morphs itself lies and counterfeit.
Even though the birds chirp and chirp, not caring about the tiny ants below,
Even though the flies buzz with life, not caring which way they go.
Even though the ground is hot, but cold, the sky is dark, but light, the wind blows but ceases,
The air is crisp and fresh.
Gazing through, all one sees are green and brown, and brown and green,
Green turns to brown, sparkle turns to rust. All this enclosed by shady, sinister shadows skulking in the haze.
In a rugged environment of short stubs and thorns, the mountains stretch and stretch, out of sight into a tiny speck.
Left, right, front, back everything symmetrical, everything identical.
I need to find my way, just like a fly swatted off its course, just like a bird bawling for a reply.
The land unending, the sun concealing, the clouds impaling, the sky blue, yet the air is crisp and fresh and hope still lives.
Boom. Silence.
You contemplate the conclusion.