Whistling Wind

Whistling Wind

The whistling, whirling wind arrived,
Dragging old ghosts through broken trees.
It rattled windows long forgotten,
Carrying whispers no soul should keep.

Each breath grew colder than the last,
A silent warning wrapped in night.
Shadows stretched across the ground,
Smothering every trace of light.

The branches clawed the empty sky,
Like restless hands that never healed.
Every gust unearthed old scars,
Refusing to stay buried deep.

I stood where silence knew my name,
Watching darkness gather near.
The wind remembered every wound,
Speaking truths I feared to hear.

No mercy drifted through the air,
Only echoes stripped of grace.
Cold settled deep beneath my skin,
Leaving emptiness in its place.

The moon hid behind heavy clouds,
Ashamed to witness what remained.
Even hope turned from my door,
Unable to survive the rain.

Morning never felt so far,
Time stood still beneath black skies.
The wind kept singing hollow songs,
As broken dreams refused to die.

When the last long whistle faded,
Silence wrapped itself around me.
The storm had taken nothing new,
Only what was already leaving.