Nightwind Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

Here with all the earth as roses,
Falling at our feet and when,
They call me back into that place,
My mind remains away.
Fallen branches twist the ground,
Just as springing up they grew,
As wind numbs all the blood of earth
I felt its touch a life ago.
And I repeat, just as all men,
Confined to speech must do,
For I hope in some enriched enigma,
That I may strike upon the chord,
Which plays both unto hearts of men,
And shakes my quiet world.