Not all leaves move with the wind.
Maybe because the others are too trampled on to move, too ground into the earth. Or maybe they're too stubborn and cling to the pile afraid to fly. But some let go.

They get picked up and carried and see more of the world. Loneliest. Loneliness is the price of worldliness. Ironic isn't it? The more you see the less time you have to connect and stay connected.

I'd still rather fly. So next breeze I feel I'm going to lean back, open up to opportunity and let myself be carried away.

I remember looking across the Golden Gate Bridge thinking... This was it! We could never be who we used to be.

Wind in our hair as we drove fast on the interstate... Just you laughing at me and me smiling at you.

What joy to be young and dumb and in love with each other and life.

It was a cool California night, we drank wine under the moonlight and roamed the city with brown paper bags in our hands.

You arms around my shoulders your lips against my cheek... I couldn't help but think this was it! We could never be who we used to be.

There's something about the city at night with its lights and the thought that danger could be around any corner.

But this was exactly where we ought to be... Just you laughing at me and me smiling at you.

She walks in the rain, annoyed
As the hair she combed so perfectly
Dances freely with the wind,
A tangled mess; wild and unruly

She zips her jacket till her chin
As she continues on her path
It's another feeble attempt to
Shield herself from the clouds wrath

She walks, sidestepping puddles
Her brand new boots caked with muck
She reaches the bus stop, cursing
The dreary weather in which she's stuck

She waits for the bus, impatient
As raindrops fall upon her face
Oh, how she hates the icy breeze
That knocks her hood out of its place!

She waits; half drenched, half frozen
As thunder roars from the skies
As though haughtily boasting about
All the umbrellas that it's destroyed

Finally, the bus arrives;
Her saviour, her salvation!!!
Now she braces herself for
The long long ride to her destination.

The wind screams,
in whispers.
It is filling
in the moments
I can feel
what it says.

Words are clearly felt.
I hear
the movements
as they follow,
motions
of my head.

At times
they sway away,
away they sway
at the times when
the moment is not
with me,
or I with it.

However,
at most times
I am.
And the wind screams,
to remind me of that.

Tis' comforting
to the heart.
Beautifully aggravate.
Scream on,
I plead,
my soul begs thee
to scream on
and relieve me
from my
thoughts,
delusions,
confusions,
whisper those screams
I plead,
to me.

The wind wants to comb my har but gets tangled in its snare.

my wooly bend of kinks and bends has now got them all to stare.

i didnt ask for this texture but its the only one i wish to be next to.

i can braid it , blade it, grow it hide it show it , its always there.

right in place , it doesnt fall into my face.

my barber is the best barber he can cut  it into shapes.


i can tape it fade it wear it long shave it.

but it will always be my **** ***** curls black hair.

The wind makes a funny
pattern along your skin,
swirling up to wrap
around your neck like a scarf.
Whipping around to tug at your ears.

No matter how hard the the wind might be blowing right now, i still can't be brought to where you are.

The day after I had to let you go,
It was windier than I've ever seen before.
It was as if Mother Nature thought
If she blew hard enough,
Your windy city and mine might just collide
So that you and I could be one
Once again.