November 27, 2011
The phantom of the wind
shaping, turning, breathing
the heartbeat of the heavens
brushing past my face.

The leaves rustle, sighing,
they are longing for the spring.
Gently falling friends
silent, drift below

It lifts the air around me
be it breeze
or howling storm
drifting, rippling through
the twilight,
whispered words
lost and torn

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback