Become the Wind

We rise from a stillness, our wind becoming all, before we touch in quietness our fall. moving youth against age, claiming the god of difference as our sage. Forsaking ownership as prayer of a kind, we run from our mortality, a fateful step behind. We move away or toward our stillness carrying thoughts that ought to walk among the pillars; spilling motions of eternal springs before our summer breeze begins. We send our songs untethered into life, released like knives to split the air, thunder to collapse our rivers course, lift a curl, or by a softer force polish unmade pearls; all motions made to leave designers touch, but in the end our dying wind will only stillness clutch.