In the calm, invisible stare
of silence on a breeze-less day
I wonder, is this clarity a sprout?
Is it a fruit, borne of contentment?
an ominous sign maybe
Has the troubled wind wept to sleep?
Does peace abound
the vacant visitor\'s chair?
of hearts\' feeble whispers
or is it a victory to deceit?
Throughout the chapters of ages
the wind has told
all prophecies of time
To us it is better acquainted
better than you and I
The wind knows him by name
our love child of selfish passions
pretenses, hatred and affection feigned
When we trusted, when we betrayed
It knows our daily aimless stray
between darkness and light
and hosts the most hidden of secrets
rumors and truths, dead and alive
From the murmurs of souls and spirits
in the wind they confide
for what better trusted a friend
than one merely passing by?
Amid the blizzards of life
it shields the candle and bears omen
A redemption hope for the night
the eve the savior comes
Needing no sun and no moon
all sin hurricanes meet its eye
We see its turmoil of dust
and witness the tug of contemplation
when its innermost being lights aflame
only to call this uproar in its swirl
but a windy day