footsteps left behind

i hope, at minimum, the flower and tree
that i've sat before and underneath,
the wind whose whispers of wisdom 
has kept me company in my solitude, 
the running spring and its residents 

hoping the aves that observe me from above
while i reside in this mundane space on this 
sojourn, they will have witnessed a spirit
sated with the verve of life

for i cherish the air that i breathe,
footsteps that i am leaving behind,
songs that i am singing and words
both spoken and written from a heart
never full but always giving

fire and storms

devastation of storms and floods appear 
then come the hell of fires and words are
said from a tongue of sharpen blades not for 
the sake of pain for loss or sorrow but for the sake
of their own tomorrow 

the flower does not blame the wind
for its loss of petals, the rain for
their wilting, the sun for being parched
with too much heat or for the night
stealing the day

in selfishness and greed there is
no good that comes but a sadness
and lament avails for the souls departed
and all who is left are the lonely and  
the cold hearted