The Wind Whistles

The wind whistles
As it calls me home,
Leaning towards the plains,
Roaming ‘cross the country,
Asking who am I.
I want it to stop.
I can’t walk where I need to walk.
I can’t climb where I need to climb.
The wind has found it’s voice.

The wind whistles.
It’s lips are leaves.
Right as they yellow,
In the midst of fall,
It cries out:
“Who am I?”
“Where am I going?”
“I’m falling!”
Swaying back and forth
As the leaves fall to earth.

The wind whistles
In Winter’s yell.
For chills not enough,
The wind calls out
Wanting more.
Screaming for a yesterday that will never return.
December woes crack fragile branches
And gusts reign the fallen snows.
Tomorrow’s too far away
To realize that Winter may die
And rise again to Spring.

The wind whistles
Tickling flowers
Laughing with the bees
And caressing birds wings.
It whistles a happy tune
Crying no more.
The screams of Winter – buried in the past
And Summer’s song to bloom soon.

Michelle L. Torigian
February 10, 2010

~ by mictori on February 12, 2010.

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