The wind can speak to us, it whispers soft things in our ears.
Saying sweet things, it eases us giving us security.
Brushing our hair behind our ears.
The wind seems to comfort us, when no one else can.
But then, just as it started out so sweet it turns dark and violent.
All of a sudden the wind yells at us, it degrades us.
No longer is our hair gently swept behind our ear, but pulled and yanked.
No longer is it comfort but now the wind brings us pain,
The wind has seemed to change.
Maybe this was never wind, but our imaginations way of coping,
Our very own façade, perhaps we compared this man to the wind,
So we could get away, we could create an alternate outing.