I am standing here, staring into a dim horizon
while the wind sighs past, eternal and uncaring,
bearing with it the tattered remnants of poems,
legion in their number, forgotten and left to fade
away and be taken by the wind. With every step
I make, across this cold and grey place, words
are crushed beneath my feet, their meanings
failing, as they rise and take their places, within
that wind of empty promises, of broken loves and
hollow sighs. I lift my gaze, up from the dust of
my creation, rising slowly and with the grace of
gentle death. I see the horizon there, see it
glowing unconcernedly with the light of a thousand
thousand thoughts, and swaying gently with the
bubbling waves of happy joy, swaying with their
laughter, with their tears and quiet sorrows. We stand
here forgotten, the old and faded words and I, watching
Witt an envy dulled by time and the ever present wind.
We are watching, they and I, as we too, at last are faded away,
eroded by the constant wind, and the hollow sighs of forgotten
words as they rise to join that lonely wind, bleak with the dying
dust of a thousand thousand words, and their sorrows,
as they pass.