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The Wind is Never Too Late
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Wayward Motions The Wind is never too late
Minutes and hours may pool into an endless shadow clock
but She cares not for the tick tock tick tock
She has been cast into many worlds
With no hope to ever unfurl
Ravaged with unrest
We seek Her company but know not what is best
For Her
She curls Her arms in a lover's embrace
We reach out in hope
We leave with despair
To Her
we are a ghost of live's past
we are a measure of time She cannot understand
we become dust in Her shapeless lands
And yet... the Wind is never too late
She casts Her endless touch
Hoping needing yearning
She is here
She is now
She is always
(The past cannot present itself
when the future was never there)
Sadness beckons, widens, and burdens
And like a loose cannon
we shoot out into the distance
reaching out for anything
To hold
To conquer
To master
To love
But, The Wind... She knows
She is never too late
She catches our follies when we become one with the daisies
She carries our songs which blankets those worlds
She chronicles our stories and heralds them across endless sands
The Wind is here
The Wind is now
The Wind is always
For us
For Her
Hmmmm
I wrote something awhile back asking
A question along these lines.
I had someone in mind when I wrote the piece.
You have spurred me to put it out.
KS
You have answered the question
From your POV.
Sometimes I wonder
Why we name
As we do .
KSS
BTW
I like your poem
"I miss the wind across my face"
After affectation of a great vacation :D