The Drowning World

Drenched, near-drowned we are,

in Nature's bespittaled spite,

these dark gloomy, oppressive

days of unrelenting rainfall.  The

soil flails, cowers, objecting in

the weight of the deluge, refusing

to open its satiated maw as 

waterways course livid with

muck, churned by the opened

skies, incapable of restraining

the dark menace of burdened

clouds groaning and clashing,

releasing themselves from the

bondage that threatens to hurl

them to the landscape below as

they leak and bellow their agony,

dashing floods below, flushing

roots and whipping branches from

their living perches, all stifled and

strangled, gasping to dry, feel

sun, be rescued from the world

turned into a churning seabed.