Wind that frightens

Wind that frightens

The wind prowls like a hungry whisper,

stalking the night with ragged breath.

It claws at the eaves,

rattles old bones in the walls,

and mutters through keyholes

as though searching for a name to steal.

I sit awake while shadows tremble,

listening to its language of chaos,

a wild voice that knows no mercy.

It carries echoes I never invited,

forgotten fears, unwelcome memories,

things I tried to bury under gentler seasons.

Branches scrape across the glass,

a bony hand without a face,

and the chimney moans like a waking ghost,

complaining of unfinished storms.

Tonight, the wind remembers me,

and I feel too small to silence it.

But darkness passes, even when it screams,

and when the sun appears,

the wildest storm must bow and leave.