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The_KindlingPoems
A poet is a bird with clipped wings, Plummeting from the sky. One who's dying words are not calculated, Not woven, Not cultivated Rhymed Rhythemed Repeated Recorded. The words are pure. Simple Sound Sung Then silent. They are only meant for the wind to hear. That way the wind can Whisper Watch Whistle Warble What if the winds rattling Window pain Is actually your loved ones Last lullaby? What if the weeping of the wind Fosters fear former forgotten?
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Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
The Voice of the Wind
A poet is a bird with clipped wings, Plummeting from the sky. One who's dying words are not calculated, Not woven, Not cultivated Rhymed Rhythemed Repeated Recorded. The words are pure. Simple Sound Sung Then silent. They are only meant for the wind to hear. That way the wind can Whisper Watch Whistle Warble What if the winds rattling Window pain Is actually your loved ones Last lullaby? What if the weeping of the wind Fosters fear former forgotten?
#spoopy#spooptober#wind#suprise#october#creepy
Written by
The_Kindling
24/M/Colorado
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
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