The Winds Hope

The cold calling wind rushes outside my window.
The thought occurs,
Where is it rushing to?
It has no home nor family,
It is the cause of others emergencies.
Why as if it is alive does it slowly roll,
Roll over the summers grass before a deep gasp sends the autums leaves scattering.
It is a fraud.
Pretending to feel the rage in pain and hurt in our tears.
It cannot be alive.
It just speeds through the endless black night,
Never reaching a destination.
But then again it calls outside your window,
A lonely lament heard by you.
You feel its pain as the cold snow burns its tongue,
Shattering it on the branches of the hughest trees,
Thus rendering it unable to talk.
Perhaps that is why it wails at my window this night.
A sad lamentation of loneliness
A struggle
And yet a hope of a warm sunrise giving birth,
To springs slow murmur.
♠ ♠ ♠
Have you ever just listened to the wind? Each season has a different voice, and tonight listening to a raging storm outside i hear its crying voice.