the wind

the wind came through a door
i must have left open
it did not ask permission or to be forgiven

it played like a wild dog
knocking over things
letting me touch it
but never letting me hold. . .

it crashed about in the room
played with the draperies
and left by the window

there may have been words in the wind
but all i heard was the rush of silence

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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