The Wind

This is a poem I started over 7 months ago, in restructuring my site, it called me to complete it.

The Wind is without form.
She is a force that moves across
the surface of the earth,
carrying whispers and secrets.

Her power is pure,
made only of air,
moving from here

The wind has the ability to fill sails,
moving boats around the world.
She can also leave sailors,
quickly and without warning,
in the lurch.

Her force is free,
for she just wants to be.
Try to contain her,
this is your error.

Try to grasp her in your fingers,
you will soon find
she will share her grace,
and quickly be on her way.

The sun, by its very being
may be able to affect the wind,
but even in his greatness,
he cannot completely control her.

From his heavenly zenith,
he can appreciate her beauty
that is both delicate and fierce. 
He can bear witness to the effects of her presence and her absence.

He can affect the direction
of her gales by heating up the earth
in his presence and distance,
or cooling it in his absence
and proximity,based on seasonality, but she is ultimately a force unto herself.


Photo by anankkml at

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