Do you feel the brush of the breezes
as if it lives by each simple moment,
and do you wonder why it flows from
the horizons of the sky?
Can the motion of something unseen
mean much more than just a relative being
upon its own course travelling across
the plains and forests and mountains and streams?
Take a look as it brings on the storm
and sense its strength and force move along
as the clouds darken in thickness and hue
and the dome above fades to gray from blue.
North, south, east, west …
can any direction it has last long for its path?
See the sand and dust take shape in swirls
and feel the rush whisk by your very living soul
as the loose leaves are challenged to remain
unstirred yet are unsettled upon the ground.
Many many times the winds take their course
without much notice until they arrive, but
do they have any destination at all
or do they just continue to thrive?
Storm Poems 