The restless wind whips and slaps
Pushy, with disregard, blowing off caps
Is it unease or anxiety, or a perpetual angry yell?
Whatsoever. Wind is my weather version of hell
It’s like all broken spirits’ wailing and groaning
To me, wind sounds like painful wheezing and moaning
Gales stop at nothing to beat and cajole
Battering the earth from pole to pole
If wind was language, what would it speak?
If it’s looking for something, what does it seek?
It awoke me tonight from my deepened sleep
I think the wind is full of secrets, ones I couldn’t bare to keep
Only on one occasion, at least that I can recall
Did I make any peace with the wind at all
I welcomed the tempest and lay down in its presence
I think for a moment, I became one with its essence
There was a mutual acceptance, a kindness to discover
Who knows? Maybe the wind is a romantic lover?
The mistral a mistress? Every breezy blast the earth’s breath?
I have but one more question: where does it go when it dies down…
What is a wind’s death?
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