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Mere Spectator

Mere spectator

Clouds of gunmetal grey amass
above the distant mountains peaks.
Loudly the voice of thunder speaks.
But I fear not this too will pass.

I watch the lightning bolts which soar.
Long streaks of incandescent blue.
Which pierce the storm clouds through and through.
Though I have seen it all before.

I am held captive by the sight.
I cannot tear my eyes away
I have to watch the interplay
of storm clouds lashed by spears of light.

I know the storm clouds will release
their burden of much needed rain
and then the skies will clear again.
I am content I feel at peace.

The rainfall will refresh the streams.
And they in turn increase the flow
of rivers running deep and slow.
Towards the sea where in my dreams.

I see the sun evaporate
raise water vapour to the skies.
The winds which blow will dissipate
the clouds which slowly rise.

And start the cycle once again.
All part of nature’s perfect plan
to irrigate the world of man.
There is no loss there is no gain.

The rain falls on the mountain sides.
Restarts its journey to the sea
It can move slow or speedily.
The ancient cycle still abides.

It was before the birth of man
and will be when man is no more
My role that of a spectator.
I contemplate because I can

and realise I ‘m powerless.
of no real significance.
I do not rate a second glance.
I am not part of the process.

The water cycles constantly
The way it was designed to do
There is no reason to review
a system working perfectly.

05/08/2009
http: blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

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