It gives no fucks whether you live or die, it will make use of you either way.
It never bends to appease, or compromise, it knows its way is proven.
It does not retaliate or hold grudges, if you destroy it, you destroy yourself. Your fate is tied to its every bulge, curve, recess, and crown.
There is no unnatural, just misaligned.
Equilibrium, balance, vibration, poles, cycles, movement, swirling symphonies of pentachoronian hierarchies toppling and folding upside down into each other and through again.
Transmutation, modalities modulate, syncopated synchronicities pulse like galactic neurons firing revelations that require the collective force of 10 thousand generations to manifest.
There is no unnatural, just misconfigured.
It has no conscience just conscious. It acts without moving, conceives without thinking. It is the passive goddess, hill to our stone.
Incantations from its infinite mouths make the insoluble melt, the impure pure, the dead rotten corpses into springs of life, the violent stench of our ignorance into sweet mushroom smelling forest floor.
There is no unnatural, just mispronounced.
Here are some of my other poems you might enjoy
