Listen To The Wind Blow Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Listen to the wind blow.
I hear it as a blur, a shape
that dashes here and there
around
the
corners
of
my
thoughts.
It strikes me like a yell
inside the brain.

When I stand up.
When I sit down.
Either one creates
the
same
sound.

Tomorrow is not mine.
I belong only
to
yesterday
and
today.

I've heard that there is
a white light as you die.
A spectral world
reaching out
to pull you in.
Welcoming waves
of celestial release
as my soul departs
this
aching
body.

We are so fragile.
Skin encasing bone,
susceptible to all
sorts of malfunctions.
Easy to damage, to
fall
into
decay
and
surrender.

Still, sun and moon
continue their dance.
Seasons change
with regular abandon.
The wind blows,
it
does
not
concern
itself
with
my
problems.