The Wind

The wind does not tell me who I am today

or who I will be

It does not speak of promise

or play in my hair.

It does not whisper words of love

or calm my anxious heart

I still know it is there.

 

The sun does not soak into my naked skin

or heat my cold feet

The sun does not burn me

or light the fire that I need

The sun does not make the stars shine

or bare fruit to eat.

I still believe it real.

 

The tree does not dance before me

it does not laugh or sing.

The tree does not answer my questions

or give me spring.

The tree does not know my secrets

or correct my mistakes.

I still believe it is good.

 

So why do I doubt you when I can not see you?

Why do I doubt myself when I don’t hear?

Why do I need an explosion to prove anything?

When the slow, steady ways of the world are here.

 

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