top of page
  • Writer's pictureWolfpen

Nature

Three Poems by Lauren Martin



The Death of Nature


The woods are thick,


alive,


thriving as the home to


billions of microscopic


residents.


Trees fallen,


hollowed,


empty.


Resting upon each other’s


rotting corpse.


No pulse,


no proof of existence except


the remnants of


their body.


Newborn maggots and


beetles feast,


on their makeshift,


collapsing home.


Your rotting timber corpse


is putrid as it lays


messily in the path.


You do not


stir.


You make no


sound.


But your leaves still


blow in the wind as you


lay in eternal

slumber,


providing resources


for a new generation


of life.





Nature Is Calling


i love the call of the songbird


as it begs for my


attention.


singing its


incessant tune


into the inescapable


expanse of the


forest.


does it know the


burden it lays on me


to listen to its ballads?


to be the only one to hear its


cry of sorrow?


to ignore


its chirps and


hums, just as if I


was ignoring


the answering machine


from a long-forgotten lover.


how difficult it is for me


to walk away from it


because I cannot


call back.





Mother Nature


Mother asked me what


I wanted to be when I grew up.


Mother, I responded.


I do not know;


I am too young;


there are too many options.


Mother disagreed,


she said I could choose anything,


be anything,


aspire to be anything


I set my heart to,


no matter how far away


it seemed.


A Mother, then, I said, since


she needed an answer.


I can only hope to be a Mother one day—


like you.


Mother smiled that half-sad smile


she gives me and my sister


on half-sad days.


Mother was not the right answer,


I guess

0 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
bottom of page