On summer evenings with not much to do,
The wind blows, soft enough to hear my words.
I ask the wind to bring relief,
I ask the wind to feel my pain,
I ask the wind to understand.
But the wind does not reply.
Yet, deep in private moments,
The wind knows more than you or I.
I agree with you here, Stephen. The wind indeed knows it all, it's only heard to the ones who truly want to hear it.
There are times when you make a wish and the wind blows in your direction, indicating that it has heard.
Lovely poem!
It seems true that often the thing we expect or seek to bring us motivation is not only the conduit for the creation but becomes the subject of it.
A poem which feels as if it finishes where it stars, like a rounded off thought.
David
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Stephen Gospage
Tue 16th Jul 2024 08:27
David and Manish, thank you so much for your generous and fascinating comments.
And thanks to Bramwell, Holden, K Lynn, Hélène, Tim and Auracle for liking this one.