These are the darker nights of the soul.
All in which the wind is a slow rolling thing.
A zephyr ethereal
Empyrean and ephemeral
Coming from some farther off place
I will never reach that summit.
I will dance about its feet.
I will show the roots who I am.
I will know the crevice for the secret held.
What am I to do with all this oncoming?
Black hearts, blacker tongues of wave after wave
The water laps at a shore that never ends.
Whirling away into the night of the storm
I will pick the stones up from where I see them.
I will toss them all back from whence they came.
I will expect all that I will.
I will accept all that I will not.
There is a cadence to the end of time.
The dance of a whirlwind
All my thoughts obey the current.
Again and again, what remains?
The terrifying freedom of a thing that may only fall.