Wind

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The winds that lead me,
Where they did push me along,
Thankful for the storm.

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Question Everything.

Am I being shown?
I am being told to look
Here, there, not over there
Do not look everywhere
Out of the corner of my eye I see
Questions surrounding me.
Questions I would have not known before,
Had I kept my eyes straight
And not wanted to know more.

Winter is Not Far

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In the darkened forest of
Those below and those above,
Followed I am through the dead and rustling leaves.
Summer sun or autumn light?
All but forgotten where I might
Have awoken in the midst of those lost trees.
My only clue is the warm
Of the breeze that around me swarms.
Here something whispers: “Winter is not far.”.
There’s a break in the canopy
That offers no new sight to see,
Only the grey that stretches on and on and on.
My steps carry me no farther
The wind carries words from afar, her
Messages are seldom those of comfort, much less of wisdom.
Raindrops and a cold now herald
The days end; my easy path turned feral.
Just how cold and wet remains for me to be seen.
No shelter, no end, no rest,
I wander on, and do my best,
To stay on a straight path, and not become more lost.
With daylight now expired
I sit, my eyes so tired,
And hope when I awaken that the world will be a different place.
I awake without opening my eyes
I’ll not do so voluntarily, something else must pry,
For the rustling of leaves tells me something I ought not to hear.
Standing up and pushing on,
I tread paths where nothing belongs,
And an echo of a whisper repeats: “Winter is not far.”

Mail

Does one deliver?
Or is one delivered by
Being told to go?

Seeing More at Night

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Ever in darkness I
Removed from daylight
Make my own light.
Ignorance isn’t bliss,
numbness can’t be ecstasy.
I see more at night
than others in the day.
I’d rather not subject myself to the blind.
I can see what is coming.

Learning in the Dark

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He must reach up to what he can’t below.
A solemn song the twilight will now sing.
Into dark depths, winding paths to follow.
What good there can the nighttime to him bring?
An age of waiting on the ocean floor,
Patience for questions that delay answers.
Inhabited by his greatest fears; more
Than a passing phobia or cancer.
One wonders if there’s breath under water,
He has been drifting down there for so long.
His arms, can he bring himself to bother?
Perhaps. He’ll soon find that his arms are strong.
In swimming towards the surface he will find,
Darkness and light, both, are repaid in kind.

Measured Against

I stand before the
Monolith. I cannot be
Measured against it.