…Blows No Mind

24 Jan

I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,
you fearful ones of little faith,
to wish a worthy wind would whistle at your back,
you the poet, the magician and the wraith,

Come along, it isn’t wrong you see, go ahead, the dead will fall behind,
the longest wind will whip from within me,
the battle cry to lead me when I’m blind;
“It’s an ill and wasted wind that blows no mind”

and if you’re wondering where it’s coming from,
or better; who it’s breathing for,
it howls past heaven and hell from high above their hands,
for the priest and the Madonna and the whore,

and while you’re wondering why it sought you out,
and overwhelmed you all at once,
it serves your soul itself from sadness to serenity,
from student, then to master, then to dunce,

and when you’re wondering when the wind will go,
you may as well be going on,
make no mistake, escape for mere and meager men
ain’t in a grave, or in the spirit or beyond

© 1992-2010 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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