A wind across the snow covered cliffs,
a strip of cloud above.
The glaring sun upon the ice,
through the frozen air.
Clouds of snow, they cast no shadow,
dancing and swirling,
amidst the gale.
My footsteps echo beyond the ice,
down the steps below.
I walk behind the airy breeze,
its course directs my fate.
I have traveled far and wide,
through the infinite tunnel,
past the waterfall at the
edge, and across the oceans vast.
Yet never have I felt alone, for with me is the wind.
But as I stand, above the clouds,
on the steps, to the hall of
Father himself,
the piercing howl of emptiness,
the blinding sound of silence,
the scorching touch of steaming ice,
and the scathing tear of the
cold, cold
wind—Oh
they shatter ‘round me, cast me down, and from
the skies I fall.
Where is the wind,
the gentle touch of a petal,
the mighty currents of the sea,
the soothing voice of the nightingale?
Sky and earth I rush past, and
into darkness,
again.
A burst of flame erupts,
and trails of smoke rise high.
I walk the path of gravel black,
crunching stones below.
Pits of fire scream of
Pain—an anguish of suffering
alone.
Still I walk.
Among the flames, under water,
through the leaves, bushes and fauna.
I follow the footsteps of a pilgrim vain,
to reach the everlasting stairs.
Still, still, oh terribly still!—
no more do the leaves flutter, the birds fly, the snow dance, the rivers gush,
and the clouds lay bloated,
rotting carcasses of sickly mules…
all without the
touch of the wind. |
Submission Name: Touch of Wind
