No one and everyone
On the wings of nothing
Above winds of something
.
Less storms not come
And time not find
That no human mind ever spoke aloud
..
No cloud or raindrops ever having held on too long
Nor I to you clung so fervently as
Like static electric enchantment capacity
…
These are not but a blink in the eye
Of a storm so mighty and fierce in sky
Which devours like an hour
..
You and I both know
That no dove be ever caught
Dead to flying right in a storied storm
.
Though in mind it is certainly not
By any means explanatory
Or for want of try to fly
What's in a name? A meaning most true? Not a memory or voice which completely explains, this being known as, me. I am. The once which wisely never flew. On a darkened day of gray and cold. And yet, once asked, I am ever capable of living a breathing life between the folds. Blah blah. Me.