This lamenting wind

This lamenting wind

Lord of the lands

The air above the sea

Ripping the tips from

Rolling waves

Fighting to usurp gravity

Leaping skyward

Dreaming of floating

As rainclouds

High above the mountains

Twisting into thermals

Melting into Harpies screaming

Tossing trees into the sky

Laughing haughtily

Slipping with cunning

Between cracks in wooden walls

Slithering beneath heavy doors

Laid to waste by a west wind’s

Restless sigh

Lulled into a zephyr

Whence autumns,

Crispy, crunchy leaves

Float as gently down to earth

As well as any paper aeroplane

Watched over by plump squirrels

Fat stomachs

Laden with ripe fruit

Making note of winter’s cache

Resting in the lee

Of a less than yielding

Wizened Oak tree

Wild is the wind

In vales of thunder

Where the old halls

Are blithely laid asunder

For want of better structure

As the nature of any

Unsated selfish beast

Is to deploy strength

In search of weakness

The wreak of the wind

Carries screams of fear

Keened from man’s own lost soul

The stench of flesh and blood

The ignominy of defeat

Where there is no shelter

To act as safe retreat

When tired walls fall

There is little of nobility

In failing to heed warnings

Before the storm that lies in wait,

Fluttering the curtain

Of a red sun’s rising

Turns once more

About its tail

To hail the birthing

Of a new day

Chased

On the winged heels of morning