In the roots beneath the soil,

And the stars that guide the night,

In the rivers that carve the land,

And the winds that shape the trees—

There is an order, deep and true,

A wisdom flowing through all things,

Untamed, yet perfectly aligned,

Nature’s divine intelligence at work.

The birds do not ask permission to sing,

The bees do not wait to build their hives.

The forests grow without command,

Mountains rise, oceans swell,

And all is balanced, beautifully free.

Each part a piece of a greater whole,

Each moment a harmony of life.

Nature creates in quiet elegance,

Spontaneous, without design,

Yet nothing is wasted, nothing lost—

A cycle eternal, vast and pure,

Where life gives way to life again.

But fiat hates this wisdom,

It spits on nature’s quiet grace.

It fears the freedom of the wild,

And seeks instead to chain and tame.

Funded by theft, born of greed,

It rips at the fabric of this truth,

A perversion of nature’s harmony,

A rebellion against balance itself.

Fiat knows only to take,

Stripping the earth with reckless hands,

Siphoning wealth that does not exist,

Consuming more than can be restored.

It bleeds the land dry,

Forgetting that life is bound by limits,

That all must give to receive.

Fiat is a fool’s rebellion

Against the divine intelligence that flows through all.

It consumes what it does not understand,

Stripmining the bounty,

As if wealth can be printed,

As if life itself can be commanded into form.

But the earth remembers,

And nature waits—

For balance will return,

And those who take beyond her means,

Will face her quiet, unforgiving hand.