The Driven Winds
From sources and cryptic hideaways,
where life is an unseen force,
where it moves without arms and legs
but colossal wings and adhesive tentacles,
where aerial giants roam the busy skies
as they have been doing since time began,
singing with the angels,
playing with the clouds
or dancing with the devil,
whoever sends them along the way,
loyal disciples of all tyrannical forces,
anointing the still air or riling up the clouds,
flying with the angels or cursing at them,
a force without a mind
but an instinctive demeanor,
an object stilled by the torpid air,
waiting for its master to move it along,
to live again and play in the nimble skies,
to jump into the clouds and stir them up,
to blow them as hard as it can,
to watch the seas toss the ships around,
to marvel at the swirling waters,
or makes way for the rainbow,
the beauty in the majestic skies,
the peacemaker that upholds
the law of the earth,
the winds of peace
that speak to the trees,
the violets, the birds, the creatures,
that weep with the pain of the hunt
and the agony of the hunted,
and revels with the greening of the hills,
the new spirit that takes over the earth,
a renaissance of nature’s dream,
the driven winds that kiss the earth
and romance the budding gardens.
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