Winds Make Sounds


Cool drivings walk through mistakes.
Abusive Winds cloud my blemished surface.
They feel misunderstood, I am pounding.
Proper Winds that flow through my elements tell a horrific story.
Redness conceals my emotional glide.
Smooth sands exonerate my guilty laziness.
Kites will eventually run free from ownership.
Symbolism is a euphemism to not offend.
People have offended me though.
Honesty escapes my merry mouth, and enters the intimate Air.
Everyone and everything breathes my depth.
Connection is flooring, respect is repeated.
Odd noises are gloomy to my understanding,
I hear scratched noises, crickets.
Those sounds could be lost souls trying to find someone.
Winds are fragile vases, paper can be ripped with little strength.
Words are persuasive, they have spliced me.
Letters are pitched in my ears, the sounds burn my skin.
I am draped in a fabric that screens me,
I dive in the ocean to engulf, the fabric disconnects.
Glowing, a new person walks out.
I am dry, glad that Wind is changing itself.
When I drive, I feel the roads, signals and other cars.
Winds will always feel misguided, I will always be there to fly or fall.
At least I gave it all, and Wind will always be natural.

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