The Wind
the wind can rustle the leaves
sing through my hair
and whistle quietly in the trees
but it can be harsh
it can whip the trees down
make swirling tornados of air
and swirl the dust in hurling tunnels of sand
the wind can caress
it can carry a thought
or a dream in its tight grip
when the sun shines
when the moon is out
when it is storming
when it is drizzling
the wind will blow on
through the dust
and the dirt and grime
and when it is my time
the wind will carry
my soul into a new
and wonderful life
Waiting
time slows to a miserable pace
like molasses seeping through an empty space
for that one moment that will free me from this place
the trees are waiting outside
my blue bike in the driveway calls "Ride me"
the book on the counter tempts me closer
the music and the computer yell "pick us"
but I am stuck here waiting
waiting for the workweek to end
the bell will not ring fast enough
and neither my feet or my legs will obey me
the clacking backpack weighs me down
the stoplight turns red to fast
the SQUEL the tires scream
the hurry of home and the peace are gone
the pain and hurt rush upon my body
the white washed walls hurt my eyes
the sorry's and I feel bad for you's don't help
all I want is to go home to the life I once had
Hands
the rough and dry
the smooth and oily
the hardened and worn
are the hands
the story is told
in the deep crevaces
and the tiny cracks
of the hands
the once lively soul
of a tired old man
rests in his warm
wrinkly hands
what can be read
is the life
what can be told
is a story
in the many pairs
of beautiful, soft,
oily, dry, cracked, smooth
hands
well, I hope you guys like it!!! remeber to comment :) I do take advice and comments on my works of word art!! till later,
A.D. Warrick
