The Wind Is High Tonight
Don’t make me be so dramatic
as to panic
about every little thing
that’s twirling
and swirling
through the synapses
that sing
The wind is high
tonight
it keeps blowing
right through
Don’t make me be so tragic
as to wilt
like some piteous plant stem
long after the bloom has died
— my thoughts are
a dead garden
tonight
The wind is high
tonight
and I fly through it
on my lady’s wings
and hope she protects me,
small poet that I am.
Let me lull the living,
and wake the restless dead.
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