Poetry: a structure in art that needs none; Yet that is always my struggle.
It is a joy but I’ve been without muse as I find myself shallow to amuse,
That which is a life uninspired; quiet and dry and left feeling tired.
Yet why don’t I? Go on, go on, go on:
I appreciate the wind today, Even when it bites.
Counting each blessing With pink cheeks and nose.
The wind is a wonderful thing;
One last time before the frost It awakens what was dead,
Leaves abandon home Yet here they dance again.
Even the shadows sway To the song of the breeze
Everything is alive this day A body of water in peace at bay;
They too receive a gift Of crashing, rolling rhythms, Drowning out city sounds.
Oh clever, clever wind, We are forever in your debt.
Even birds under your power Today they still owe breath.
And as I count each blessing, Your power grows stronger yet.
And I know it is time I move on; Blown away against my will;
Respect and gratitude, always, To that which was my muse.
And I’ll work harder still To chase and embrace; to choose,
Hoping to awaken the strangest of myself soon.