Wrath of Nature

I am the warm winds of spring; who blows your way because it is my nature.
I am the said season’s sun, who lights your way in fulfilling my function.
I am the night of the summer, who lifts the dreaded heat.
I am that smooth rock by the river, which becomes your convenient seat.
I am that burning coal, which you survive on while I burn into oblivion.
I am Father Time, which erases distant memories to make way for your future.

I do not exist for the sole purpose of your relief and bliss. I serve my own purposes, as things would have it, you reap the benefits of my existence and I allow you so.

If you were to use idle words to describe my being, to maliciously twist the profits that I willingly provide, then may it be so that

You shall wither a in the warm season’s cold.
You shall grope with danger in the shadow.
You shall burn in the full force of my alter ego’s wrath.
You shall stand as punishment in the flowing river’s path.
You shall die a cold death because the fires burn hollow.
You shall wander lost and confused in eternity’s fold.