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Betty May 12
Oh wind
ill tempered and contrary thing
you drag the peaceful sea  
by the scruff of its watery neck
harrying the sleeping waves  
to rise and fall
crashing at your beck and call
yet when we want to sail
or dry our clothes
you don't appear at all
AE Apr 19
Silence tumbles out of me
this moon, and this sun
this morning and this night
this want for rain
this flicker of hope
the embers, and the sheets of ice
it all in an overwhelming exhaustion
have come to take my breath away
and every time I speak
my words are caught in the wind
circling from everywhere to nowhere
leaving me somewhere in between
vanessa marie Apr 12
waking up to the birds chirping
the sun peeking through the trees
there really is no better feeling
than that of a soft spring breeze
Chris Saitta Mar 19
In our love for the wind and all that passes,
Each smote of self, a wisp of loss and absence,
Like the snow pendulous slips over last grasses,
In the glow of the lamppost and unholding fences:
So too the thousand-grains of breath
Blow through our bodies’ incandescence,
And in the starlit-smoke from the dragon's mouth
On wings of filth swirl the bone-edge of death.
Serendipity Mar 7
I have sat in this one spot
for so long
I have grown roots deep in the ground here.

"Tell me, is it better to rip myself out
yet leave a piece of me

Or is it better to stay,
and grow leaves of old age
in the same dirt
I was born in?"

I pray at night to the God who planted me
and all I hear back
is the wind.
Wind blows on this side
Close my eyes and turn to hide
Now it's you I find
andydaly Jan 11
Sparkling, silvery, shades of grey.
Skin, shivering, brain of dismay.

Trees, trancing, bare naked sky.
Patiently, pondering, preparing to fly.

Wind, whistling, a dancing swoon.
Sounds, serenading a sparkling moon.  

Secret , system of the seasons.
The rhythm of winter needs no reasons.

Seasonal affective disorder,
Justify this infective inorder.
You gave me the freedom to fly against the wind
And tried to hold my string in your hand
But you never realized I was a bird, not a kite
Who has its own wing to chase the sky...
And now that you've recognised my flight
It's too late for me to climb that height..!
Few things need to be done on their right time, once their time gets over. It's almost impossible to do them again with the same perfection...
Savio Fonseca Nov 2022
Dancing with the Clouds,
is a Dream that I always carry.
But the Darkness of the Night,
is somewhat a bit scary.
I keep waiting for The Moon,
to show up in the sky.
But the cold November Wind,
keeps howling in My eye.
I feel like I’m slowly fading,
like smoke into thin air.
In constant search of Love,
but no one really cares.
I keep gathering the Moonbeams,
after Twilight steals My hours.
Her Memories sleep with Me,
in a Garden full of flowers.
Coleen Mzarriz Sep 2022
Have you ever considered that if someone is lost, they were once good?
Have you ever wondered if clouds were mists and what raindrops are if rain exists?
It was these nonsensical questions you always find common to believe in,
like when you talk about metaphors, you always think of "rain."

But the moon figured out it was to give comfort to people who truly needed it at this time.
It was unbearable for some, but for you, dear?
For once, it was almost as if you were being embraced by the platonic moon, who once favored the good, and for once, it never happened again.

The wind is metaphorically a duvet, comforting, warm, and private, innocent and cold.
When the wind whistles and calls for the sky, the sky turns akin to one’s warmth of soft lilted voice and embraces the skin of once lost, a phrase everyone uses in things they find wondrous.

But have you ever wondered if the moon has figured out if he is also one of the good?
If he did, then why did he brush off the earth?
He went far away, visible to the naked eye—and never to be reached.

He left the Creator's dearest one, and everyone gets lonely at night, trying to understand why they grew fond of him—but he never once went down to embrace his own kin, yet he left a half of his own, so he could die when the sun arose from his seat, and he could rest until it was his turn to look over for people who needed his company, even if it was only for a few hours.

He knew it got sad at night, and by this time he, for once, favored the good and never to be seen again but felt.
I always love writing about the moon.
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