On odd days
The wind blows
With a grin, cause she knows
My weaknesses,
Encompassing every fiber,
Bringing me to my knees.
Swirling, lurking, waiting,
Till my feet are steady.
Welcoming it
With dreaded anticipation
Again, she blows
With suffocating comfort
Allowing me to feel
The familiar chill
Of past storms.
1 comment:
Enjoyed this. The wind is tangible.
Reminds me somewhat of my Pondering the Rain, although nowhere near the depth of your prose:
http://raverantrage.blogspot.com/search?q=pondering
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