He's looking for affirmation
In his surroundings;
For fury in the fauna.
A tempest wells with erupting tears,
A chastened boy's wrath blowing over
Like a bad storm.
Raging god, quashing the crawly things
For not reflecting his own image
In their indifferent scurry of legs.
Where is the insolent glare
From the multi-eyes of the crab spider,
The indignation at the swiping of a day's work?
So too he snorts at the weak spirited fieldmouse,
Who surrenders with halcyon gaze and sedate coiling
To the talons of the nimble hawk.
Is there no vehemence in this pelting rain,
No vindictiveness in a short lifespan
Made even shorter?
There is a humiliating lack of sputter
In the blossoms forced to cover their heads,
An irritation in the lark's modest resignation
Of nest to the manipulative mockingbird.
With jutting lip and furrow of brow,
He stamps the ground, cursing the worms
For loving it so;
Vexed at the bank's embracing the pond,
Perplexed how it resists mirroring his mood.