The Wind.

The way is soars o'er the land, aside the mountains, above the valleys.

The sound it creates against my ear.

It washes all the stress away, and carries it away.

Pushes all the trouble from my hands, to the ocean.

Somewhere far from here, I whisper my dreams into the midair.

For, I know it listens.

Even responds.

It has a mind of it's own, flows where it feels and changes path whenever it feels.

The wind.

Wind minds my presence and compliments me.

Tells all the worries to run.

I have no need for fear, but a fear from my happiness.

Wind.

My Wind.

Wind.

My Wind.