Toward the Wind

Without thought, we are great,

With space, we crumble.

We think, we plan,

We agonize, we tremble.

 

We find ways to legitimize,

A life left wanting.

Over a life lived exposed,

To the warm breeze turned cold.

 

The clouds are distant,

But thundering, ominous.

Forces of wind from beyond our control.

May blow them in any direction.

 

So better to take cover before,

The first droplet hits the soft, warm earth.

Likely, it will perish under its weight,

So flee.

 

But the clouds look like smiles and endless confusion.

They mix the highs and lows,

And pastels and vibrant, violent shades.

Until all are feared.

 

All send the weak packing bags,

Filled with possessions and trinkets.

Rusted with age,

Tired and useless and familiar.

 

One can navigate them by heart,

Always knowing they're there.

Forever.

 

Unless the rain touches them.

Dare one leave them out?

Away, left forgotten?

 

The comfort and weight and pressure and stillness.

Fatigued and alone and heavy and halting.

Protective yet hurtful, logical yet wrong.

 

Can they exist on a continuum?

One's prized and revered?

 

Anger exudes from their very fiber.

Festering, demanding energy.

They cling, but do throw them.

The wind carries them afloat.

 

And the faces of clouds,

Seem to laugh at the irony.

They wave as they follow,

The trinkets away.

 

Toward a life alone,

Wanting, darker and still.

Composed and well-tended,

Organized and content.

Weighted with possessions,

Littering the closets,

Hidden from view.

 

But away from here now.

They leave a space through which the wind blows,

Hollering and whispering at an in audible tone,

But deliciously loud.

 

Warm, uninhibited.

Unsolicited and new.

And delightfully simple,

It aims toward the north.

 

And who knows where it aims?

Who knows where it's from?

But smile just a little,

And lift weighted limbs.

 

Test the airs in the space to one's sides,

Feel the empty stillness,

And for once, feel it's comfort.

 

Move without judgment,

Toward, not away.

Closer to wherever one is,

And is already there.

 

Outstretched and still.

Moving in slow motion.

Red and yellow, a smile,

Laughing. Toward the wind. 

Reviews

[Orlando Murcia]

This almost felt as if I was watching a movie...


Brilliant work :-)


I enjoyed this very much