Fate, Are We Clouds Shaped

Fate, are we clouds shaped,
bent and rolling by the mere blowing of the wind?
Of hardly any substance, just enough
might we catch a sight,
a lieu till another form assumed anew?
Say, can we not, "No,
I will not go with thee, O Wind, I defy
direction, for a different path I intend to run!"
Can we not hold back when
a temperature high or low must incur
the substance of our lives to spew in a dance?

Let me hold my energy from thee,
O Land, do not call forth your lightning hand
snatching my inner strength till I am nothing.
I search tragically over this terra's girth
for answers that are hidden lore:
to expose the birth and death of this aging cosmos.

Why must I
be an endless pattern in the sea,
hints of myriad movements,
dry wetness in the sky.