The Wind: An Anthology
-‘And the Wind left me’-
Dead, listless
This is how i stand, propped against the wall
arms hanging limply
legs buckled, knees touched
fingers curled at grotesque angles
the slow steady tread of white wispy smoke
rising in this strands off my bald, skinless scalp
I am fully clothed, protecting my gray bones
from the harsh elements of the fire squelched brightly through my empty eyes
I look at myself now, I see tattered clothes
hanging as if by string
not touching
that of my skeleton
They seem to be repealed by an almost tangible force
In this image in my head, I see that this force is naught but my pained emotions
that they are so strong; they permeate, apparent even in my abandoned bones
lifting, filling the cloth that surrounds them; making them appear full of mass
The Wind passes by, no longer unseen, but a solid entity
barely a stolen glance passes my way
as if her intention was to leave me lost and alone
the whisk of the smoke barely disturbed by her passing blow
After she was gone, the fire returned in the corpses eyes, blue and bright
wave after wave of pulsating black consumes my image
pulling me farther away, pulling me towards the absence of the bright white light
-at the end of the tunnel
Still there, slouching against the red brick wall
the absence disappears, drawing with it my fire of life
my fire finally gone with the sand of the earth poured over
Wind returns
Kisses the dead and listless
and sulks away with the single tear of the silent slight night
-_*-_-*_-
-‘I need that Breeze’-
With the Wind wisping by, disappearing as if she was never there
tears hit the gum scared concrete
before the next splatters, my time stands till
I’m enveloped by water, I hear it coming towards me
surrounded by the rushing walls of frigid liquid
the surface tightens and crystallizes
Next thing I know, I am trapped cold beneath the ice
Disturbed, lost, blind
I search for an exit
frantic hands, scratching at the ice
wishing it to be let free
I need that
the finger, the hand, the arm
that broke through the ice
freeing me from my prison of solitude.
Beneath the ice, trapped, and confused
all is serene, peaceful, and lifeless
when the Wind passed by, I saw her face through the ice
and I prayed to my god that I would be my savoir
that she would be the fire that broke my ice
that she would be the color to my monotony
The Wind passed by, tears streaming down her face
and atop the gum scarred concrete, I lay free
cold, wet and horribly tired
- free
But still with the need for that breeze
-_*-_-*_-
-‘Past the horizon’-
I look to the Wind
for the comfort
that I had lost so long ago.
With longing deep in my eyes
I watch as the Wind
whisks away any painful remnant
of the heart claimed.
My voice becomes something distant
as she carries it away
stealing it from deep inside.
With longing deep inside me
I look for the Wind
as she disappears, a sight now past the horizon.
I watch as the Wind
whisks away the thing
that had claimed my heart
that caused me to throw caution to the Wind.
As she disappears, a sight now
past the horizon
I spy something settle to the ground
dull and without life
as it lays
Dust over the rocks
I pick up the remnants of my heart now dust
and cry as I try
-to recover.
-_*-_-*_-
-‘The Wind Dies Down’-
Small feet leaving prints
in the sand- cold and dry.
She walks with her arms,
wrapped around her side.
Past the roaring surf of the ocean,
angry spray making it loud and known
- - - -
Through the rising tide
her prints disappear
the Wind dies down
But I stand steadfast.
Anger apparent in the rising sea
Wind is enraged
battering me
with the harsh salty waters of memories
yet I stand, steadfast and unwavering
Emotions torn apart
Memories aroused
of all the times
good and bad.
I stand steadfast
as the Wind dies down
and the prints disappear
I am an unwavering image
crying silent tears
as such can only be said,
because no words could be understood.
_____
I am done, and this is my proof. I don't know what evidence it holds, but an outflow of whats goin on inside. I've watched myself frustrate like hell over some that I love, but can't cure. I am done with that. "To each theirown". This is why it seems like I don't care, but I really do, just not going to become angry or frustrated over anybody. If they want me to care, they mush care about themselves first, because I care about me, and I my tired of hurting for those that do not want to get better.
~Johnathon