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Wind Speak to my heart (long)
2008-04-30

wind speak to my heart,
the green earth moves beneath my feet,
and you are nowhere to be found.
except in the movement of the leaves,
the sound of the water rippling down the stream.

the wind blows through the trees so high,
higher than I dare to climb, to fall.
the grass and brush around my feet, body,
deafen the heat and the sound of the day.

this same old path that my feet tread,
overgrown from years that have passed,
for the years that I was happy are gone,
and only the woods fill the emptiness of my heart.

wind, please, speak to my heart,
fill me with your comfort and love,
the green haze of the trees,
are the only peace that I find now.

concrete jungle heat so high,
dead grass no rain so long, everything, dead.
even the rats run from the concrete heat,
for they know there is nothing there for them to eat.

b-ball on the court on the corner,
football in the heavy sun, on baked grass,
school year begins soon, so they say,
but those years are passed me now,
and I just pass along the way, but,

eyes are watching my every move,
narrow alleys filled with trash and blood.
blood from the fights that happen there,
blood from the young boy who died so too soon.

for the years have changed this place,
no longer do my ancestors fill these houses,
but a different breed dwells here,
and the language of this city is no longer the same.

I find myself in the woods again,
wandering down paths not so worn,
there is a green haze that surrounds me,
and comforts such a broken heart.

wind, wind, windy day lifts me down.
yellow brightness on the horizon,
white puffy vapor above my head.
blackness ties it all together.

cold shivers my mind;
as my hot hands sweat,
and the peace of the earth is all,
but the wind is no where to be found.

I only wish she could join me on this walk,
down this unbeaten path through the woods,
but she has left, gone off to another world,
and leaves my dreams empty once again.

bring bring goes the phone,
ringing off its hook,
as no one bothers to answers the call,
that was made from the heart.

there is no phone in this place,
there was never anyone to make the call,
for the concrete jungle has swallowed them all,
and theirs is no longer the concern for nature.

certain things in life are hard to find.
bang bang goes the gun in the young boys hand.
and that i know is wrong,
times are passing so very fast now,

lights come streaming down the street,
like the leafs that flow down the stream,
paces are heard as boys run along,
and another life passes into the ground.

plead with the sky and your eyes will drown.
if only if only the woodpecker sang,
and the skybird dove into the lake,
rain pouring down upon the dust,
empties all the filth and the lust.

vertices of the mind diverge into grief,
filled with thoughts of empty connections,
as the brain goes snip snip one neuron at a time.
drown the thoughts in liquor,
but the come dwelling up in your dreams.

there is no escape to the damage that we have done,
even the songbirds song no longer rings strong,
and if that is not enough,
just look at your feet, and see the trash in the wilderness.

I find myself in a place of stone,
walls and pillars and tombs,
only the dead seem to know the old ways,
and maybe that is why the thought of, death
is so very comforting to me.

you can’t escape the world,
(you have tried so long and hard to do so, and)
so live in it the way you know.
and you hope that will be enough,
to bring the wind rushing down from the hills,

such wind as the earth as never seen,
such wind as I have never felt,
and the filth, the trash and the blood,
will be blown away in the distant nothingness,

and the trees begin to laugh,
at the filth that we have put at there base,
they always will dwell, even in our abuse.
but save the land, and you might save the wind.

it will lift you up and throw you down,
starlight bright above my mind,
fill me with your distance and peace,
so that the haze will clear from this place.

James O. Stewart