Your place is among the tides,
between the waves
and into the caves.
* * *
You dwell in the rain
and sleep in the sand.
* * *
You walk through storms
and wander the land.
* * *
You have seen the beginning of things,
you can follow their evolution
and foretell their ending.
* * *
The surprises have become few,
short-lived,
they’ve lost their rhyme.
* * *
Beauty remains the same
and can still touch you,
but only should you decide to let it;
when you are not hovering with the wind
above the sea,
when you are not flying with the birds
above the forests;
watching,
assessing,
fearing you might disturb it all.
* * *
You drift away and into things,
forth and back again;
with no apparent aim,
only a hunch about the road.
* * *
You are in many ways a lot like the wind
you so much admire,
always drifting,
but so regrettably sentient
most of the time.
* * * * * *
Originally published in medium.com.
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About the Creator
Vassilis Anagiannis
Wandering into the endless maze of poetry.
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