No more room to go more
westward
standing frozen on the shore
of the ocean
shook still
after years of motion
Motion being
His only source of devotion
always fleeing
and this is how it ends.
The cumulative compilation terminated
in a spout of nothingness
which shouldn't have been that surprising
given that it wasn't much different
from the rest of his days.
For when you're in motion you're never really occupying
one space at one time.
You're only ensuring
that you don't have to be anywhere
anywhere but going.
Sewing
your fate
in traveling
you were.
I travel over yonder
you, not knowing where yonder is
and by the time you find out
my whereabouts
I'll be elsewhere by then
by now
Yet in a place
am I a being to face
or am I just a
figment of your
imagination
disappearing
away?
Unknown is this to me
for I cannot know
for I never hear
and only speak
and am only heard
when I am gone.
My movement echoes
and there I go.
I am a thing that is haunting
blowing past you at night
toppling trees
bringing the fearing to their knees
praying.
I am the storm
only fully understood once gone
while living near you only confusing.
As I zip by, make you wonder, insert an abrupt rest to your song.
Yes, yes, I am gone.
These words are the past's words
by my moving, the integrity of these words
do rescind.
I am the dreadful wind.
I am the dreadful wind.
