'No Synthesisers'

I capture the sky;
I hold it in my hand and look.
I capture the sun;
It shines within a book.

I look outside:
the piercing deep blue of the sky.
The wind blows,
carrying the far-off cry.

The scream of alarm, the scream of distress,
of nature alive, of earthen unrest.
It demands our attention, wailing with despair.
But don't look in a book, you'll not find it there.

What I see outside -
the natural state-
I've come to realise
I cannot recreate.