wind

currents of air induce animation of thought and meditated actions

the brushing rasping sounds of the wind 

outside it blows its source unseen, unknown

from mystery far, distant lands and seas

past myriad lands, seas and trees hauntingly abandoned

against my walls and through  my open windows 

it beats against the door of mine own midnight home

it lingers on my ear and pensive makes my breath to hold

no pretense, no haughty holds; it simply blows

with chills it comes from alaskan northern lights and snow

those distant lands bathed by its breath 

under twinkling skies it silent flows 

below the witness specks of starry light

ruffles hair and feather of creatures seeking life

it speaks to me upon my quiet bed, 

seduces pensive thoughts

reflect i look upon the day with all its good and bad

mixed in with play and fray 

my life upon this tired earth

whisper something, oh wind,

in my ear i do not present know

your chill upon my naked chest,

bared against the night

nothing no one can restrain your course, 

as you go on through your lonely vigil's flight

your journey to the south extreme, 

the horn of south america and round again i see

your breath i breathe; 

it stirs my soul to feel

man, my friend and foe has turned his back on me

follow you if i will, the choice is mine to take

free like you, to fly like you, 

sweet abandonment,

nothing, no one can restrain

i lie here in distilled repose

await your gusts, 

for more to follow those that passed

once they blow and flow me past 

bring idyllic cycles, favored dreams 

with wistfulness i beg the night;

be not quick to be overpast

let it be for me frozen,

stilled in this moment, 

calm, petrified in time

the sun delayed with its light, 

let not this niche be overcome

just be myself in this moment's dark,

let this wind brush against the cheek of my wishes' reflection 

of the things i've thought and done today

of what its worth, for whom its gain

to what eternal end

to what eternal vain

blow you wind through my windows open

make the trees to speak

contained within therein,

mysteries unveil

to what end my attentive mind 

weary of days' toil

to what road, to what place 

will i now embark

Reviews

[streetrose]

This poem has a lot of room for potential, and has many positive elements. On the other hand, however, this piece contains major structural flaws and lacks a consistent sense of rhythm. The variety in word choice could also be enlarged/enriched.