Oak tree in the middle of a field, the limbs are twisting, dancing,
but no wind is blowing.
Dry grass stands still, a flower disintegrates off its stalk,
colors fading, degrading.
My house used to stand here, when I was a child, now there is just a tree,
such green leaves...
All these memories, swept away in the night, but there is no wind blowing,
never has, really.
You stand next to me in my mind, but you're long gone, in reality,
decomposing.
A blurred outline of a face, something that was, but is no more,
never could have been, really.
I sit on the corner of this concrete slab, watching the clouds rush by,
shedding alkaline tears.
Birds ride the currents, gliding effortlessly, but the wind doesn't blow,
it never has.
Fence posts, dry as paper, they've stood under this harsh sun too long,
but this sun has never shown.
I'll sit here a while longer, under these rustling leaves,
sounds reminiscent of crashing waves.
You were a gust of wind, drying sweat & tears from my face
that feeling left with you, & the wind blows for me no longer.