TOUCHING WIND

So, here I am again.
This is a poem that I wrote years ago, as so many are. Sometimes, I wonder where all of my muses have gone because I don’t feel like a writer very much any more.

I know that writing every day is one of the things that builds better skill. But, most days, I can’t find my muse. I guess another way to word that is to say that I can’t find the motivation to write. I know it is buried somewhere under all the fatigue and the long list of things that I know I should do instead but nothing feeds the ‘Writer’ part of my soul quite like immersing myself in a mountain of warm, fresh words that help me express what I can not otherwise give life to.

Here is another piece of my world, from a long time ago. I probably don’t need to add this but I am going to anyway. This poem is not about what it seems to be about at first glance. Metaphor is a wonderful thing.

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TOUCHING WIND

All around me
-holding me
Pushing me from behind
a gentle lover’s pressure.
Dancing around my neck
an icy chill,
Lancing through my clothes,
Touching secret parts of me
Dancing with me
in embrace.
The poetry of moments;
A Sonnet of Days
Teaching me
Unseen insistence,
bending me into
supplication –
Willingness of Willow Tree.
Tugging at my hair,
Whipping over me,
Breathing life into
a deadened soul
That weeps for life no more.
…kneeling within you
inside your stream of Spirit
You give your breath and strength
and I
offer the Wind all willingness.

©JoBeth Sexton 12/12/2002-2016