No Hiding
Wind whips all around,
throwing a tantrum
of leaves and dirt.
It feels like punishment,
spiteful and vindictive,
as my eyes sting with
unseen particles,
as my hair is
tied in knots with itself and
interspersed with debris.
No matter where
I dance and duck
to get away from the wind,
it finds me anyway.
There is no hiding from its grasp,
no avoiding its outburst.
I feel no mercy from the wind,
but the truth is that
the wind just is.
The wind isn’t out to get me,
isn’t meaning to be angry,
but lack of intent doesn’t stop it
from doing damage.
Comments
Post a Comment