The wind howls outside my bedroom window shaking me my heart; my soul
it screams while you sit there drinking sweet-smelling coffee a baby boy in Africa cries of hunger and aching ribs.
while you are curled up under warm and soft blankets an old and lonely man wanders the darkest streets looking for warmth; a home
while you hide there surrounded by light and family with an aura of ungratefulness you are lost in the rays of your technologies with a frown on your angelic face when a weeping woman shakes and prays for her gone children to reach Heaven happily but you dare forget God to a screen?
my house shakes from Wind's agonizing words and a streak of cold trickles into my haven along with the words "what am I doing?"
somehow my stiff legs reach a window and the arms in front of me pull it open to reveal no sound at all
where is the wind? did he leave just as he touched my heart; my soul making me waver? or does a gust not howl , speak, and isn't heard?
no the wind was here for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes suddenly freeze and lose all of their beauty?
no one but Wind would take the innocence of such young and beautiful white specks just as they landed in this cold, dark world
no one but Wind would flare you with reality enough to make you cry with obliviousness for this wind; my Wind he is the voice off all those who have faced life's stinging brutality; him instead of hiding under covers and whispering morbid lies that everything is okay