Eruptions of Change
In the heart of the Earth, where flames
intertwine with rock, volcanoes awaken,
exhaling plumes of ash and gas, their
plume a transient veil obscuring the sun.
For a fleeting moment, they turn daylight
into twilight, casting shadows over fields,
tempering the sweltering breath of summer.
Yet beneath this transient tranquillity, carbon
murmurs— a subtle threat weaving through
the fabric of time. A paradox unfurls—
the smoke conceals the light, yet the heart
beneath, throbs heavier with each pulse of
the roar, the carbon dioxide, a specter of
our creation, trails behind us like a lingering
shadow, its presence a reminder, that every
eruption, every obstruction, merely shifts
the balance. As the seas shudder— life
releasing its burdens, the tight embrace
of death seeps back into the air, further
entangling us in a web not of our choosing.
Three centuries, a mere blink in time, but
what a weight we’ve forged, more than
thirty-five percent; each molecule,
a testament to the fires we have ignited,
to forests lost. Through photosynthesis,
the trees once sang a chorus, harmonized
with the sky, exchanging breaths, but now,
high above, the ozone withers, its veil thin
and torn, allowing the sun’s relentless gaze
to pierce deeply into our essence, as
chlorofluorocarbons rise, like smoke from
a waning flame. And still, the tectonic plates
churn, the reverberations of ancient forces
igniting eruptions; fire and ice locked in
a struggle, a delicate dance of balance,
fighting against the snowball chill, an echo
of a frozen world, highlighting our vulnerability,
the fragile threshold of warmth, where life
teeters on the brink. Unique Earth, adorned
with cycles, perpetual ebbs and flows of fate;
we stand, eyes wide open, witnesses to
transformation, seeking significance, in
the rising heat and shadowed illumination,
aware that even in stillness, the rhythms of
history continue, and the smoke—
a paradox, a resonance deep within us all,
serves as both a warning and an awakener.
In the quietude where tectonic murmurs
dwell, the earth exhales softly, signs of
ancient force, dragging carbon from
the abyss, lifting it like a painter’s brush,
etching history upon the canvas of existence.
Pangea fractured—a magnificent mosaic,
fragments cast adrift, longing for the embrace
of their lost kin. Each shard, a new continent
cradled by the ocean, cradling the promise of rain,
moisture weaving from clouds— an artist’s palette,
shades of existence and dust. But the air thickens,
equilibrium falters, as the unyielding waltz of
erosion unfolds, stones thinning under the gentle
burden of purpose, truth entwined with time.
Carbon, once inhaled, is now released—
beneath the shroud of ice and beneath
the sun’s gentle gaze. Glaciers stretch
their spectral fingers, veils of white whispering
albedo secrets, reflecting energy back,
to the cosmos as a mirror, while beneath,
the deserts fade, parched lips cracked,
thirsting for storms that have forgotten
how to dance on the land. Yet, the belly
of the earth swells— volcanoes awaken,
bellowing forth, carbon escaping in vast
clouds, a gas gun unleashed, filling
the vault with air, warmth, and light;
ensnaring rays in a delicate embrace,
the greenhouse effect's tender cradle.
As moisture rises, vaporous dreams collide
with the fiery breath of creation, forming
the acid rain, soft yet fierce, eroding
the stone-hearted giants that keep their
secrets tightly, the bicarbonate
flowing into the sea, gathering into
patterns of silent artistry. The ocean inhales
deeply, the waters cradle pirouetting ions,
inscribing tales in carbonate, fossils of
a life lost and rediscovered.
As the cycle spins, endlessly weaving
the tapestry of life under our feet, where
every element sings its role. So here
we stand today, reflections of this world,
each breath we take mirrors the cries of
the ages— the rise and fall, the ebb and
flow, the carbon cycle intertwined with
our existence, a reminder that we are
both the breath of earth and the echoes of time.
Evolution
In the soft embrace of twilight's glow,
we find ourselves gathered around a
holy table. The flickering candlelight
dances upon our features, and
the air is alive with the words
of those who once shared this space;
here, where the essence of
existence simmers. We lift our glasses—
crimson elixir, vibrant as the heart’s pulse,
as if the vine itself had woven the threads
of our stories into each precious drop.
Spirit flowing, awakening our senses,
reminding us of moments conceived
in the stillness of creation. Bread,
golden and warm, loaves cradled
like cherished promises; each crumb,
a testament to our bond—
binding us to one another and
to the echoing breath of God,
who shaped us from wet dust
and breathed life into our souls.
“Let us make man in our image,”
a sacred creation, a reminder that
without Him, words slip away,
dissipating like morning mist.
We risk becoming mere shadows,
monkeys in the fold, lost in a forest
of silence, reaching for meaning as
the symphony of existence dims
under the weight of our doubt.
Why did the serpent coil its tongue
around promises and lies? Kafka’s
metamorphosis, a reflection of our
innermost fears and a struggle; to be
caught between flesh and spirit. Together,
we contemplate our existence,
the musings of Darwin, the cycles of Mayan
wisdom, and all echoing uncertainties. Yet—
in this moment, in this gathering,
the presence of God shines forth—
a beacon in the haze. For what is faith
if not the light that nourishes our humanity?
We are reborn in love, our hearts stitched
together with compassion, striving to be
good, to be whole, led by the sacred words
gifted to us, intricately woven in the tapestry of
creation, urging us to awaken and
to dwell in the grace of God.
