Calm

Even when the water stirs at the ripple following a throw of a stone,

the calm returns.

Even when the woods take in the heave of wind the clouds blow

and as it swishes around furs and hairs, breaking weak branches,

the calm returns.

Even when the air brews tempests and the witches cast their spells in the skies,

the calm returns.

And even when the angry flames rage through the innocent forests,

the calm returns.

How did we become so lost?

No longer do we return to the calm,

and no longer do we have a return to the simplest desire of calmness.

Nor do we find it necessary to create balance,

but we lean towards throwing chaos in our midst.

Whatever we lost long ago continues to remain lost,

and all we fight for is the hope that all shall return.

Rome wasn't built in day, we tell ourselves.

But someone still sought to finish it anyway.