The Day the Wind Died

	At dawn I begin to realize
	there is no movement in the skies.
	The clouds have gone.
	The drapes are drawn,
	a funeral home when someone dies.

	By noon the sun has now begun
	to slowly, surely come undone.
	Inspiration fails to start
	my heart impaled upon my art.
	There is nowhere I can run.
	With night the light dissolves to black.
	The moon balloon has turned her back.
	Her memories
	stir up a breeze,
	the firmament begins to crack.

	The face of God comes rushing by,
	peeps down with his all-knowing eye,
	flashing a grin
	He sends the wind
	again into the crimson sky.

Next Poem

Blue sky with pale clouds

Return to Mysteries Selection