Hadean
By Valsotic

***

On fields of life, on fields of greens,
A man ebbs, on passion he leans.
The man gazes, the man admires,
The scene, O how it inspires…

The songs of birds, the trickling of streams,
The napping of foxes absorbing sunbeams.
The humming of bees, the howling of gust,
The romance of squirrels together in trust.

The billows of clouds, the heavens of blue,
The oceans of grass enveloped in dew.
O how brilliant, O how bright,
The way the orbs reflect off light.

His bosom is warmed, his soul is absolved,
His spirit is true, his worries resolved.
His vision abates, he settles to rest.
Amongst the flowers, he consumes abreast.

…And yet, and yet, how soon he forgets:
Birds had once sung different sonnets.

In forests of moss, in forests of strife,
The raptors rejoice - by the prey’s life.
And so they gather, and so they devour,
‘Sauria, they know, is the true power.

For even in waters, in waters of haze,
Blood is shed much aft mosasaur’s gaze.
And even in skies, in skies of discord,
Quetzalcoatlus knows it is lord.

Amid the trees, amid the clouds,
Amid the waves: their presence enshrouds.
No matter the jungle, their tongues loll,
For they hold dominion over all.

Their paunches are filled, their kinship is pure,
Their strength is unmatched, their place is secure.
Their enzymes impel, they fall to repose,
They know they are of the ultimate prose.

…And yet, and yet, how they don’t know:
Fish had once been the stars of the show.

In oceans of fright, in oceans of hew,
The shark advances, his jaws are askew,
For amongst the sands, the fragments of lore,
The creatures roam lost, their natures implore.

The trilobite prowls, the sand is depart,
His patterns resemble a most curious art.
The ceph’lapod shuffles, his limbs ensnare,
The crustacean is caught, a fool to his lair.

 Yet despite the tumult of waters so sore,
Tiktaalik is steadfast; she washes ashore,
And when gazing around, no longer oppressed,
She can’t help but picture the marvelous quest.

In terms of flotation, there was none,
But so was exchanged the warmth of the sun.
And by the rays, and by the soil,
The plants had grown vast, with no signs of toil…

…And yet, and yet, the meteor pounds,
Just as it had on earlier grounds.

By ripples of heat, by springs of blaze,
There is a life form braving the maze.
O but how lonely, how sad it must be,
For Cy’nobacteria, king of the sea.

Yes, he is alone, on land or on sea,
On towers of lava belching debris.
Indeed, alone, in air or on rock,
Not to be courted by even a hawk.

The terrain is exposed, the toxins are dense,
Yet even through this, he wants to make sense.
For even in lands absent of grove,
The sky still shines a radiant mauve.

The sun hangs bright, its rays descend,
He absorbs the beams, desiring to mend.
The rock is barren, but it has future,
And through such fusion, his kin would suture.

…And yet, and yet, it’s dismal to think
Water had once been an alien drink.

In fields of ebony, in fields of gloom -
No traces of life, not even a bloom.
No pulsing of hearts, nor coursing of blood,
Merely the chaos of Hades’ flood.

The hissing of comets, the bolting of light,
Striking the ground with furious might.
The tides of lava, the oceans of red,
The bubbling of magma soon to be spread.

The skies of sulfur, the clouds of ash,
Entangling the lands in hideous sash.
And even beyond the clouds of bold -
A spherical fire, a mem’ry of old…

Such lands of demise, such lands of dread,
Perhaps it was here that Death was bred.
In lands of such woe, in lands of such hate,
It makes sense why Death can’t create.

…And yet, and yet… the land here divides.
For in the comets, anima resides…