Ragestorms on my Mindscape
a living breathing land,
grows and sprouts ideas and emotions.
In a dynamic balance
Between three fiefs
One of Peace
The other of Pleasure
The third where Putrescence thrives.
They grow, they shrink
At each others' cost.
Ideas are born and emotions emerge
Ideas disperse and emotions are buried
Lurking incessantly like phantoms,
Their aggregate is seldom lost.
They grow in Peace
And animate Pleasure
They subsume, consume and thrive on each other.
In this indelicate balance remains
An unstable ecosystem of my Mindscape.
In bouts of extroversion,
I split the skies or let it rain
Then shut it all, in dark, dank pain.
Summer came by and beamed.
Once balmy, then sultry
With sensuous, sunny, warm rain
And a rainbow shone above.
With crops of joy,
With harvests of stupor
In a happy haze,
Gushed complacent gutters.
So, Putrescence too made gains,
Wailing at Summer never to go away.
Ideas were dying and Peace surrendered,
Pleasure could grow no more.
And just like that,
Leaving a bilious, victorious
Palpitating, pubescent, putrescent Mindscape.
Such filth foments floating rage
The anger it spawns is suffocating scum,
That dries, ignites and swirls in time.
Monstrous storms of rage,
Tore and tilled the Mindscape
Flaming past the sky
To singe and blight Summer,
To never let her beam again.
And then the Mindscape,
Still as a graveyard,
Through darkness and doom
Revived, rejuvenated... relaxed
As a convalescent corpse,
Peace reigned again.
The scum of rage still floats about,
Igniting, combusting at ever blithe Summer,
Torching infant ideas in its wake.
Peace polices the squalor,
Though barely keeping it at bay.
Ragestorms die, Peace revives,
Pleasure is shown its place.
Each time this happens I've wondered,
What the Mindscape has gained from age.