The Blissful Wind

A long poem. Almost an essay.

The wind is howling more than normal. There is a rage, a fearful one that somehow points to a new order that will arise in my lifetime. In a weird way I somehow hope it does.

That urge for me to start in poetic prose, rhythmic form or words that sing and link to other kindred spirits is never far away, yet I am also contemplating that I have been drawn to bring my soul to speak on the topic of space.

I love it because for me it is the essence of my being, even if that being is kind of an alto ego but also a calming presence in my volcanic emotional roller coaster of a mind.

So there. That’s the truth and it brings those tears to the fore ready to wash out the stresses and strains that always sit under the very ambient calm exterior I present to the world. Am I broken?

In my world, space is stillness. It is a ravishing beauty of what lies between the beating heart I cannot feel and the outer skin of my chest. That greyish urban contemporary piece of me that forever works on himself daily. Oh wow, even as I write that phrase it shows me the visible flaws of the human I am.

The wind is fiercer than ever yet I want it to get fiercer still. Why? I write this with natures elements beating like a large banjo drum that contrasts and even complements the city…