In the Wind

In the Wind

 

 Things that moved by the whispering of wind, the waving of the branches. How the extend their long limbs full with blossom.  Waving for the attention of your eyes calling with the clapping of pushing and pulling.  How they sing the songs that calls the birds and fowls of the air, tiny feet resting in the embracement of her bark.

 

Is someone calling my name, Is someone calling my name. The wind pushes the sound of whispers that sounds out my name.  I walk in wonader of who can it be, where is this sound come from.  I'm lost in the openness, the calling of my name has me stump.

 

Movement of movement, back and forward lifeless movement of no sense of direction, the blowing wind have me captive.  Powerless like the bondage of a man who know not the freedom that he process.  Colorless and formless up and down my motions are endless for I am caught.........

 

In the Wind

 

 

 

Written by

James E. Profit