Prose Poem, Circus Maximus

Circus Maximus is upon us now. All good souls seek safe haven in the sweet earth. The land and its people slipping inexorably over the cataracts of the abyss. Hunker down my seeds, hunker down riding the cataclysmic idiosyncrasies of life rather than being ridden by them and survive the tumultuous violence of the show. 

Sprout at first hint of warmth and explode into life:

Out of the sweet Mother earth seeds splitting open sinking roots deep into the ground and raising trunks and branches high up into father sky.

I am a strong tree roots anchored deep into mother earth enormous branches reaching across the heavens, rising up into the sky.

... I am the wind -
wild grasses quiver in my wake ...