The howling wind blows outside, Rattling window panes and shaking walls. "She must be alfully angry about something to blow so hard.." I think to myself. As I lie in bed. Alone. I long to be Outside, To feel the Goddess' fury, To stand in the field and let the air wash over me, To yell and scream and create a scene, To cast my frustrations into the mighty gusts, To let them carry my troubles away. Into the next village, state, planet, Where ever the wind blows to. Allow all the hate and pain and anger to leave my body, And be replaced by the pure, fresh, clean air. Brought by the hurricane-like conditions. Outside. Outside. Outside.
Reason for writing:
There was a terrible storm one night, and the wind was so strong you could barely stand up without being blown over. I thought it was an absolutly beautiful night, and I just had to write a poem.
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