Ragestorms on my Mindscape

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.

Pleasure flourished

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,

Summer left,

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,

Grew Stronger. 

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.