One afternoon, Dark hours
A gamut of soul-stirring joys.
Noise that could trouble you
The strong of the thunder, the crash of the waves
The silence of a river that races and raves.
The noise, I like the noise
The strident tattoo of a sail
The Pronto, thunder, tacks.
Ain’t been no… Usually joy.
No mortal supposes.
Human chasing nothing, pregnant clouds.
Natural take over, listen to the call.
Mankind see the creation of natural
Creation is semblance.
Lingers, unconscious proceeds.