The winds depict the words his lips never did,
In the heat of the day,
he’s forced to bathe in his own sweat.
The skies wept the tears his eyes refused to shed.
He seeks redemption with mixed results,
so he often finds remorse beset by regret.
The most durable harvest of life
and all its odds are in a fruitful harvest of memories.
The memories he cherishes most endure,
are the ones he never forgets.
As a sudden rush of air escapes his lungs with an audible "swoosh,"
that reshapes his chest,
Up into the midst of a sun’s stead
forming into a dark cloud’s silver thread.
On a sunny day,
A sharp northern wind danced across an azure sky and began to fret.
Then water cascaded down the clouds,
and then his cheeks,
And then mirrored the ancient skies,
So that he could clearly hear,quickly read then slowly re-red.
It was as great as the first day that creation
swirled...