Rating: 4.1
As the wind howls outside
It knocks at the windowpanes
It whistles through the doors
But yet silently
I hear it whisper your name.

Over and over
Again and again
Your name
Drifts through my air
Envelops my space
It encompasses my world
And quietly shatters my soul.

How I used to love
These wind tossed nights
As we lay side by side.

The wind now
Is like liquid poison
It seeps through my veins
Insidious to my being.

How I despise the wind.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Ken E Hall 24 July 2014
love is in the air whistling in the wind and storms of emotion turned the tide of is so fickle at times for so many reasons...lovely write indeed
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Your name Drifts through my air.... nice one....10 makes as if whistle blow touch my ears and go whisper slowly the name which i like most and claim
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A gentle wind turning into a gale when it carries memories of anguish.................nicely composed..............
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Akhtar Jawad 15 June 2014
Memories are always associated with various beauties and comforts of nature. Wind is a nice example and an impressive poem as well.
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Captain Cur 08 June 2014
Toss in the turbulence of the wind but rest in the tranquilly of the breeze. Good write, articulating loss in a powerful message.
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Chris Zachariou 07 June 2014
How beautiful and sad. It says so much about loss and unhappiness and the kind of pain that never goes away. It's always there under the skin like an old wound that never heals.
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Jonas Goncalves 30 May 2014
Nice poem! You write very well :) Thanks for your comments on my poems.
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Wow! I learned from Joseph Campbell & studying Buddhism (not one) , that the air really means a Jungian type collective consciousness, or even my mind; and that the wind (Buddhism has a doctrine: The 8 Winds) , mean ideas, possibly, but not redundantly, thoughts. I'm glad I read this one first, I'm already blown away.
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Daniel Brick 22 May 2014
This poem goes beyond the bittersweet of loss and change. It's as if the wind is mocking you by speaking the name of the lost one so insistently, so heartlessly. What was once a wonderful experience is now painful to the point of being soul-shattering, and I can't think of a more terminal description of the impact of loss. Literally, your poem is a mix of related memories, eg. the coziness of sleeping together as the wind howls outside. But figuratively the wind is now a malign agent of loss, keeping you awake, blasting the loss again and again into your consciousness. The last line is as much closure as this experience will permit. The rest is endurance.
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Erika Wingo 02 May 2014
An amazing write. It really permeates and swallows you up into the melancholy abyss of emotion at is core.
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