Imagine

For I had lost the hope and will,

Surrendered to the bloody drill,

Where I was none but commonplace,

With a humdrum smile and hollow face.

When had I lost my passion to live?

Placate my thoughts, forgo, forgive?

Where was that innocent gullible joy,

Of dreams of love in a virginal boy?

Why did I age across my tomb,

When I was waging to mamma’s womb?

But then my thoughts were brushed aside,

By swishing wind that proddedly pried.

It hummed to me in a monotonous flow,

“When I get cold, I stoop below.

But when I gain energy and heat,

I carry myself to a hundred feet.

I find this heat in fire and earth,

Those I conquer, beget my birth.”

It was then I found the courage in me,

To close my eyes to insipidity.

For all the vision I had needed to walk,

Was in the thought that the wind could talk.