The tune of the wind.

If I ask for help, there is no answer at all
only fretful fidgeting fingers on my windowpane
friend of mine, the wind
rapping twigs in torments against man’s transparency,

I push the sound to one side
decide to try another more nuanced avenue
candle burns, mind turns like a starter motor screams
until the battery gives out, as flat as a pancake,
I ask for help, the candle flickers and stutters in response
what is it I really want?

I have been the fool in natures’ court; I ought to listen
to my friend, wind comes with sighs
from foe and allies, to whisper wonders and open truths
God is in the motion, through dead air
microbes and man all in the overall plan to exist
life is a prayer,
it does not care for labels, that is our obsession!
agnostic, devout, up, down, in or out…

Wise friend wind had to shout so intensely to snap my malaise
waking to what was there,
all my life,
all my,
life.

Chris