THE WIND
By justme

Silence and stillness fills the air
The things of earth, prepare.
Expectancy the hidden chant as bombing single drops of cloud
Signals and lays the path like a blackened, darkening shroud.
Enveloping the land like an umbrella shading the sun.
Day becomes night, no escape the moment,
the wind it shall come.

Stampeding howl roars through resistant fighting trees
Which bend like the archers bow before it frees,
Yet long for a prouder straighter stance do they.
Yet like the worshipped before their idol, they humbly pray,
in respect of a greater, more powerful one,
than they.

Shivering, flickering leaves rattle and quiver in it’s ferocious wake.
Their tiny stems grip their stronger brother branch, and quake.
He shudders, whips and bends but holds firm the master trunk.
Who’s very sturdiness and resistance, could leave them all defunct.

Some leaves succumb the battering remorseless thrash
and go hurtling and swirling and diving to finally, inevitably, crash
and await tomorrow a rotting silent death.
In rumps and stench of their withering, soggy, brothers breath,
Tempting the sliming worms to draw them to a darkened eerie place, far from the elevated godly heights where they danced a  happy song,
with grace.

Others move and twist and turn upon the winds request
They fight that the sun tomorrow may shine once again and heat their gorging face, they fight that they may live, to be their best.
They fight so they might give.
It is a futile fight,
The fight to live.

For all shall take and all shall give, as all shall return that which has been taken, that they might live.
And to the earth, the ground, the dirt, shall all things be drawn,
To wait a moments breath,
until  the moment of a new day, a brighter,
better dawn
When all things shall once more,

live again.

∞

Credits: Poem © justme; Image © Catrinphoto