Calamity is

Not Nature's

Wrath.

It is her

Art;

Intimate and

Devastating. 

It is not

 Self-destruction, 

It is ablution. 

Knowledge is a mirror of our confusion. 

If days could

Breathe, they'd

Live on your soul.

If nights could

Cry, they'd mourn

Your absence. 

The dearth of existential freedom is the mother of essential freedom.

The expectation

Of what love

Should be

Surpasses the 

Experience of 

How to love

When reflection 

Is perennial.