The world is odd.
It's beautiful, covered in
a vineyard no sower has ever
made anything to compare.
It is wet in waves of blue
that make it contrast with the green.
There are peaks and mountains,
that if one were present near the summit
at a certain time in the morning,
could witness a sunrise only
science fiction writers could dream of.

Even the works of man have their own beauty.
And yet, people can only see the ugly.
Hurricanes, floods, and other kinds of
natural disasters that Mother Nature uses
to clear way for reforestation,
with no whim how high the cost.
Wars in distant lands,
between ancient old rivals
over modern issues.
People judging,
correctly and incorrectly,
both are right and both are wrong,
while children, and even men, still struggle to know
where the fuck they belong.

Then there's God,
somewhere in all of it,
just silently watching,
planning,
creating more life than
we're taking them.
He's got something in store,
and perhaps we'll have to wait,
a little more.
Whatever it is,
it's not something to save us.
He did that nearly two millennia ago.
Yet people in every group,
every ethnicity,
every culture,
still ignore it.
Why?
Eh, pride?
Maybe.
Or fear.
Perhaps.
Who knows.
I guess, He does.

The world,
despite all that it's blessed,
is still a flaming mess.
And that's fine.
God made it, with love divine.
That's all that need be say.
I would have it,
no other way.

Attempt at   Thursday_Prompt write a poem.
Nex, 08/14/25.
Photo taken by me.