Tale As Old As Time

Now, what amount of poetic expertise

Would be ample enough - I do not know.

I know, some things are stirring in the distance -

A butterfly and a hundred such crows.

Listen to the wind, and listen closely,

The wind has a tale to tell.

I can hear the saudade,

Slowly weaving an unknown tune.

The strings are stretched to the horizon

Where the distant stars fret over the sky.

Listen to the wind, and listen closely,

The wind has a tale to tell.

With every little breath, a little color

And a little scent is added to the picture

Lying not far but not really very close;

It is a mystery soaked in petrichor.

Listen to the wind, and listen closely,

The wind has a tale to tell.

The warm blood likes it a little cold -

The abridged paranoia of an unborn storm,

The illustrated melancholy of the still clean clouds,

The synesthetic anxiety of the unionised skies,

The corrosive mania of the nearly condensed vapor -

And all that is pure but far too evil.

Listen to the wind, and listen closely,

The wind has a tale to tell.

It is enigmatic, but restrained to its core,

It crawls across the skin and it lies still still.

Too rich in volume, it takes up all the space

Inside and out - a regardless animation.

Listen to the wind, and listen closely,

The wind has told its tale.