the second poem from my archives. enjoy!

-Alex

It is a howling sound,

A moaning,

screeching sound.

A sound filled,

With all the pain of this place.

It calls to me,

A whispering call

Or a roaring demand.

Dancing across tree tops

And under bridges,

Around mountains

It sends the wheat up in a panicked flurry.

And it slides under window frames.

It calls my name,

Calls me home.

Often, I forget it.

Its purr and its screech.

But then I hear once more,

It is darkness

Hope and love,

It is the killing calm.

The voices of the many.

A shuddering sob.

When its silence falls.

And the red mist

Flees not with it.

For then,

I pity my quarry,

For when the darkness falls

From within.

I will add to the winds moans.