the wind

poem about the wind and its relation to us

The wind that blows,
Will hear our story.
Yet still it knows not,
Why we sit here and cry.
The darkened room
With blinds over windows
Echoing the blackness
Never ending inside.

The pain we feel
Is nothing to the wind
Who huffs and puffs
All through the night.
The wind surges on
Ever there, ever hearing,
Blowing us ragged
Till no longer we fight

Then as night turns to day
The wind grows calm
Brushing past trees
Pulling clouds in the sky
It seems the danger
Of the wind is over
We survive to see night again

And yet again,
As we sit in our room
The wind brushes past
Our window pain
The huffing and puffing
Continues once more
Like the darkness we feel within

Yet just like our selves,
The wind isn’t bad
Merely,
Just miss understood
The writhing and thrashing
It sounds the world in
Is just its way
Of showing us
It’s alive