Pressure of Ash/ Purpose or lack thereof

Shrouded,
my thoughts become loud when covered.
Mounds and mounds of sentiment
do nothing to muffle
The sound of weight becoming comfortable.
It’s a creak from the heart.
A wheeze from the mind.
“Maybe it will rain.”
Naively,
Thoughts of this kind,
I think
Sometimes choosing naivety is the same as choosing blindness.
Is it a kindness when
The heart knows
It will all just be blown away.

Then the rain did come.
Enough to feed the plants
“Profound relief.”
What hubris the clouds have,
Coupled by their lack thereof;
Drifting, dissipating,
Collecting and re-distributing
Love for the Earth.
Distant and close to all those they serve.
Caring minimally
and Grandly
For those they pass by who Are
Re-living,
What it means to be alive;
Absorbing, processing,
Creating something new
From what is within dirt
And forgotten water.
Energy,
Connecting empty space and matter,
Until what matters reveals itself.
Pushing up from where we can’t see,
Always there.
Barely known.
Dirty. Yearning to be grown,
Finally,
Just to rest
Endlessly