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Intermission: Turbulence

April 22, 2013

I am…. adrift

The essence of freedom.
sailing gaily at windmill pace.

ever-dancing, ever-running –
and the updraft.

Spirals – warm, or cold.

Mournful wails across the moors –
or gentle summer sigh –
or screeching battle-cry.

The destroyer.

I have sharp-eyed warriors,
and sharp-stinging guerillas.

The stuff of life.

Smoky damp breath,
tasting of ice,
or of the warm earthy smell that follows rain.


Something calls:
Air spirits, blow him home.

Blow, blow –
to port, or to reef.

I care not.
It is all the same.

One Comment leave one →
  1. April 22, 2013 9:52 pm

    100 words.

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