The wind howls -
It is a wounded wolf -
And its piteous cry
Penetrates the atmosphere
Before resting on my
Bedroom window.
It possesses no end,
It has no beginning,
But it moves the clouds
And parts the oceans
And charges the lightning air.
It cups our hands full of it,
It stirs our hair
And prods our faces
And tickles our eyes.
It forces us to smile
When we want to.
It makes us fall
When we don't.
But here, where the
Shore meets the sky,
And sparrows darken
The lamp posts, hide
The earth in their dark fire,
We will always have wind
For our wings. [Almost.]
YOU ARE READING
Someone Like Me {Poetry}
PoetryWith power there come words. And with words there comes music. And with music there comes joy. And that's why I write poetry.
