The Wind

Oh, how I love the wind
It promised me to tie the moon on its back
Carried softly on the back of the drawing black waves
White foam, pearl tears of warmth
It unearthed even the Earth itself
Shaking mountains, uprooting the Great Tree
Our own religion, my own prayer
The same prayer that disturbs the leaves
It promised me to bait the stars to feed fire from my hand
Of psalms and melodies;
to which is met with only melodious short breaths paused
by black wave whimpers
Rain wiped washed away by the moon
The very moon of which was promised
It is only my hands that meet the flesh
And the tree's weight falls eagerly on my back
pulled by gravity
Beckoned by reality
To find that my arms are filled with lightness
Makes them grow only heavier
Makes my body sink

The leaves are no longer restless
There is nothing