The Wind Poem by richard ilnicki

The wind
Comes with neither father nor mother.
It has no identifying birthmarks
Indicating no known origin.
The wind is supernaturally powerful.
If it chose to do so
It could probably grasp Alpha & Omega
by their necks
Tightly in its infinite fist
and squeeze the sun out...

It arises from the four corners as ashes,
A phoenix of cremated memories
Stacked one emaciated thought upon another.

The sight of it
Blowing through fallow fields or fecund
Can germinate sorrow
Or tears of joy,
life or death wrapped in the guise of weather.
The wind
Strips the pastoral landscape
Of beauty to feed the hungry,

Souls stuck to stakes
Like scarecrows to preserve hope.