Seasons - Serrata

Beneath exists a core,

Where landscapes are derived,

Like lungs beneath our feet,

It’s breathing into life,

This varied, vast terrain,

Where we chose to reside,

And build our monuments,

To stand the test of time,

Perspective is cut short,

Facilitating blame,

Inherent ignorance,

Entropic force at play,

The Seasons we endure,

Are merely nature’s pulse;

The ebb and flow of life,

Void of remorse,

Perspectives come and go,

Dependent on our views,

And what we yearn to know;

What we believe is true,

The changes we’ll endure,

Transcend this mortal form,

Into the Earth;

Return,

To be reborn.