THE WIND DIES
THE WIND DIES Limp sails, struggling against the current, like a bee, crashing the window pane. Searching, Trembling, crying out in the forest. A sound not heard, a need unfulfilled. Looking for a clearing, some shade, a cool breeze. Ragged from lonesome freedom, to be a willing prisoner. A home with breathing walls, a welcome mat on a peaceful shore. Too much to ask, Too much to own. Sail on my warrior, no one will know when you're gone. Kent Phalen Sign in to see full entry.