Winnowing Winds

No winds are winnowing enough To put a quill back in the hands of the dead poet Or confidence back in the trachea of the strangled speaker In me Because no words are as vile As no words at all Where they're wanted Sensitivity not sublime Nor careful when it comes by I feed no attention to the egocentric I don't sew my lips before the arrogant I've learnt frankness is a sin A snake oil with a venomous sting It pierces hearts, taints their insides So I remain in the corners of minds Where the light's stretched far too thin So that anytime I mumble in a moment of dread Or so much as chuckle saying what I've said The sound waves just linger - A musty frequency Better off dispersed than heard No winds are winnowing enough So as awkward it remains If for no one but I Because the air is only stale Wherever I exhale And when I do the mirror fogs It gets too cold when I see my flaws- A face with nothing to offer Much like a vault that sees no prosper No winds are winnowing enough To blow the sands off my mirror So, if a lack thereof, To hope, I may surrender Hope is like a poetry, It's alive in the Literary Write, so I shall, journals and mails, So every night my breath prevails, But when I seal the envelope, I see the fall of hope, A post with no address has nothing to contain Hope is like a canopy, Rooted in cookie crumbs, A masquerade, a make-believe, But ants could never be earthworms The guise would still soak up enough water So death may arrive a day later No winds are winnowing enough, And the earth remains elsewhere - A witness to dying greens That cling onto life as I do hope Often that flame is snuffed out When all my trials could show is doubt But not before fate and time inspire Some fuel to this fire How could my cranium be cleaved If I ever closed my eyes and leaped Without ever having reached Several floors from the concrete Still no winds are winnowing enough So my corpse shall lay there Its stench reaching no one And its soul going nowhere My nerves will scream, my mouth unable I ooze gangrene, my body unstable I bend, I unwind, as maggots tear away, I try to move, I try to die, but my body shall always stay I will soon be nothing but bones Still bearing fleshy undertones, With every fibre hollowed within Arises an echo of all my sins Etched, undying, on my tombstones Still, I trust God when times are tough And let the sun rise and the night fall But no winds could ever be winnowing enough There are no winds at all