The sharp rustling of dry brown leaves
Scratches against my mind--
Then quickly gaining my full attention,
The cool breeze flowing through the window
Silkily running across my skin,
Like chilled satin.
The subtle creaking of thousands of branches
Bending and flexing with the winds
Add an eerie harmony to the leaves'
The cold purifies.
And deeply I inhale
Hoping that somehow this immaculate gale
Could penetrate my soul
And wash away all that festers deep within.
All the memories stashed away
Threatening to spill into my now.
I am quiet most nights
Rarely a word escapes my lips
Nor a glance my eyes do take.
Is my nights' task.
Beating down my rogue vices is
My nocturnal need.
But the distraction of tonight's natural rustic rhythm
Has been most inspiring