With wind
blowing change
moving everything
around
Nothing stays
with me
not food
not water
not who I think I am
With wind
scratching, scraping
breaking this house
down
Nothing stays
because nothing is mine
not you
not me
not even this moment's reality
that
I am the wind
3 comments:
poetry is human therapy
I do believe you are a beautiful poet.
why does pain always evoke such beautiful poetry?
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