There are days
When the wind whispers through my mind,
Softly, gently, almost silently.
It speaks in ancient rhymes,
Of a time
When you
Were just a dream,
Waiting to come true.
There are days
When the wind howls through my mind,
Reminding me
Of paths of blood
I chose to tread,
Instead of paths of love.
Bottled peace I do partake
Before the wind doth see me break.
I seek the whispering wind.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
YOU ARE READING
Freefall
PoetryFreefall. The title, hopefully, describes what you will find in this collection, I shall write pieces free of the constraints of both form, and structure.
