The Wind

Past midnight, it must be.
All that can be heard is
Birds flapping their wings, continuously,
Crying out, in the early hours of this morning,
Their sounds, resonant.
Some of them dying,
Perplexed by the cold winter’s plight,
But in truth, forever living
Only trying to search for what is or isn’t real,
They could withstand the forces of nature,
Even if it was to exist as part of the wind,
Written in the wind, which they could none but abhor.
Arduous moments,
Desperate hours,
Never despondent,
Always in flight from the time winter begins, into
Early spring,
And within that moment-
With all their hopes, before-
Taking back time,
The birds of the night still flapping their wings above
Tumultuous waves of the oceans below,
Bleeding beaks,
Feathers flying about,
A shattered night-
Killed by the wind
These birds were-
On this cold winter’s night,
Only the birds dared to venture outward, igniting their strange passion
That could carry them into brush fires,
Within the whirlwinds of time,
They don’t care,
They just don’t care, for
They are so close to God,
So close to heaven, so very close-
If they would only believe,
Let them believe,
Let them believe, arduous moments,
It was only inscribed across the sky.
It was their lives’ story,
The cold winter’s plight was what they abhorred
Shamelessly persevering-
Taking back time,
Controlling thoughts, arduous moments,
Desperate hours, never despondent-
Flapping their wings
Out of the bloodbath,
Trying to escape they were
Taking back the night, or the
Early morning when dawn breaks-
It was only within the wind,
It was the wind that they blamed.
Counting their sorrows while
Pecking at their bleeding hearts.
Weeping minds,
Arduous moments, contrasting, as seen
Only in the wind,
Written in the sky,
The brutality of the arctic storms were
What they disdained,
What they so sorely despised-
Woven into the ice storms within the twilight then
Carried into the dawn,
Soaring out of the bloodbath, and
Losing control within the
Whirlwinds of time.


Claudia Krizay (schizoclaud)