Winds of homicide rattled the town.
Men blown away like leaves—never again around.
The noise captures one in a deafening freeze, yet is there really a sound?
Whom is he trying to please? Is he merely a clown?
The vengeance is petty and the reasoning is shallow.
They just do what they do; nothing is hallowed.
Anything for attention; "Just make a noise!" they'd pray.
Yet the noise never lasts where the dead man lay.
A wind can come seeking utter captivation.
Its gruff, dark, damning voice can claim its authority.
But it's for a moment the men are swept from the nation.
Then the tears are dried and silence, emptiness comes readily.
Thus the wind amazed, reduced, made lost and made cold.
But after all this havoc, what has the wind to hold?
