Vagaries of nature

Strange are these vagaries of nature,

Quirky yet absolute in stature,

Sometimes benign in their appearance,

and deadly to the point of significance,

I cannot find measure in everything seen and felt,

And I find myself loosing sense in the present,

If only there was a definition of consequence,

That would lead me to the prism of deliverance,

Standing in the midst of the nature's storm,

I hope to lean towards the greater calm,

Looking into ocean of existentialism,
I finally see meaning in the realism,
For as strange as these vagaries of nature may seem,
There always is meaning in their seeming inevitability.

Here’s a cleaner version of your poem, with a focus on sharpening the language and flow while preserving its philosophical reflections:

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**The Vagaries of Nature**

Strange are the vagaries of nature,  

Quirky, yet absolute in their stature.  

Sometimes benign in their appearance,  

And deadly in their quiet significance.  

I cannot find measure in all I see and feel,  

And often lose my sense of the present.  

If only there were a definition of consequence,  

That could lead me to a prism of deliverance.  

Standing amidst nature's storm,  

I long to lean toward the greater calm.  

Gazing into the ocean of existentialism,  

I finally see meaning in realism.  

For as strange as these vagaries may seem,  

There’s always meaning in their inevitable stream.  

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