This is the season of earthquakes.
Nature pulls our comfort like weeds,
firm footing begins to shimmy and shake,
the ground nothing to trust,
solid walls and treasured monuments
crumble to dust, everything breaks.
This is the season of earthquakes.
This is the season of tornados.
What Nature knows, it doesn't tell
and what begins as thunder ends in
random rage, one home obliterated,
its neighbor saved. There is no reason,
no pattern, in this crap shoot of woe.
This is the season of tornados.
This is the season of floods.
with tears until rock becomes mud,
all flee to higher ground, Noah
nowhere to be found. A damp
fear rises in the blood.
This is the season of floods.
This is the season of our shame.
We are victims of our own making.
Long ago we lost our fear of unseen
things, called ourselves masters of
the realm. We never learned that
Nature is not ours to tame.
This is the season of our shame.
--Charles Deemer
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