The Ripple Effect

You, the pond,

lying in a depression on the surface,

submerged into your thoughts.

Solitude and peaceful,

the fairy forest glazed in white,

frozen enough to seal yourself

into your inner home,

where tiny fish gathered

and aquatic plants

foster life despite the chills of winter.

Gradually, the outside warms up.

The snow recedes,

expanding your waters higher and over;

it feels overwhelming and filthy,

but in time, it goes away, back to balance.

You’re aware of the cycle of the seasons.

The ice on your flesh melts away,

baring your inner heart

and the sunlight rays through

like your home has been blessed to shine.

Icicles that turned the trees

into chandeliers

begin to drip.

One drop falls from the pine tree’s edge,

just above you,

and touches your surface.

A tiny ripple spreads outward

and fades before reaching a meter.

You didn't feel it going under.

A drop might disturb the clarity,

but it will never truly affect you.

It always returns to its former glory.

You, the lake,

millions of years ago,

you were once part of the ocean, a deity residing with her water family

until rifts and weathering turn you into a clear loch.

Humans explored the vast regions of the Earth,

settling right next to you

wishing precipitation to burden your balance

and rise your waters,

hydrating the crops to harvest, to gain currency,

and to expand again, using you more and more– such a strange world.

Their technological advances create boats, ships, and jet skis

to travel on your outer shell, scratching your skin,

only to ‘heal’ in an instant– that is what they only see.

Do you feel the same way?

Humans also created hooks to steal the fish, your life– part of your heart– for their own survival.

Your lake brothers and sisters said that they built dams and hydropower plants to harvest their energy and turn it into electricity.

It sounds intriguing and fearful that humans can modify the environment;

your siblings were never the same since,

even your forest cousins are struggling to handle their many wooden limbs

being cut off and used to supply human demands.

You wish to talk to humans, so you can tell them no and chill out

before Mother Nature punishes them as she does without a care

or they ruin their survival themselves. Both might occur, oh well.

For now, humans use you for transportation and food,

also fun.

The glamorous days are when summer arrives,

and humans dip in, cooling off from the heat.

The wind dances with you,

pushing and pulling you in,

creating great waves for the little humans to splash into.

A beautiful sight!

Without artificial help, their lungs and bodies cannot dive closer to you,

which is pressurized, colder, and darker than your surface.

However, your world is enchanting,

Life adapts to the extreme conditions,

and so do you.

You, the ocean,

a fair eldest and the magnificent of this world,

preserving fallen cities and ships that plunged deep within you.

Sad story for humanity, but your chance to turn the relics into artistry.

Mankind studies your vast creatures on the bright surface and within the deep, dark trenches,

where the pressure suppresses their mightiest of weapons,

and the creatures that don't need light to see,

like they had fallen in love with the unseen and embraced it.

Beyond your home, rigid boundaries grind against each other, stuck in place, creating pressure,

building for centuries, and you feel it too.

It will be agonizing, and your inner self will be affected.

The sea creatures sense it, fleeing from where you reside.

Your hand– a transparent dark blue with webs between your fingers, reach out to the fish,

pleading for them to return;

you don't want to be alone.

It’s not your fault.

After so long, the stress snaps, shaking the world near it,

pushing against you so close.

You scream as your ocean rises and spreads outward, traveling far and wide,

much farther than a raindrop,

more potent than your rage manifesting a hurricane for days.

Your oceanic family can hear it.

Pent-up feelings can only be buried for so long,

bursting when you don’t want it to.

In minutes, these waves approach the shores.

Like an involuntary inhale, the water leaves the beaches dry,

a sign that humans should run to high ground,

but the water returns with speed and height.

You can't control it, you can't stop it– all you can do is watch the destruction of lives they worked so hard to achieve.

The more power you have, the more damage you can do, even without malicious intentions.

The waves snatched up cars, trash, animals, humans, and anything in their way.

Small buildings get devoured,

the exits in high-rises get flooded;

the waves ready to consume like zombies.

You cover your ears, whimpering for this to stop,

even when so far away, you hear their cries, families getting separated, the buildings tumbling like shields made of talc.

You can hear the kids shrieking for their mothers and fathers

as if your mind mimics them

for hours, hours, and hours.

You see, Mother Nature stares at you, indifferent and cold;

she gives flourishment and destruction

without worrying about the success and death she caused.

She doesn’t look at it, just walks away.

You wonder why you can't be like her

when you and her share Earth’s blood.

If you are not going to use your powers,

she will force it with her hand, pressuring your boundaries,

ranging from a water-drop kiss to a tsunami calamity,

even when it’s not your fault, you still feel upset;

the water is a container of all feelings;

hence, why emotion aligns with the ocean,

better than feeling nothing at all.

One thing can enter your life, either inconsequential or significant,

alive or not–

surface or heart–

can still cause changes, brief or permanent.

It can affect more than just you,

called the ripple effect.

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That was long! I'm glad you made it that far. Happy New Year! -Ace Melee