I've grown tired of this wind.
Tired of the days,
it seeks to begin.
Tired of,
each sway,
each bend.
Oh,
I grow so tired,
of this wind.
Be there no direction?
Be there no way which,
such shall create absolution?
Be there,
the absence of actual movement?
For,
this wind,
this constantly creating wind.
Seems to create,
nothing.
Seems to steal the souls of human entities.
Seems to be a whole,
that never intended to be.
For,
it would seem,
this "We",
this silly in-grouping,
becomes the wind within,
society.
Becomes tethered deeply to each and every,
why.
Becomes,
essentially humanity.
Be there no other way for such to be deemed.
Be there nothing,
but,
organisms competing...
©yungb123
Y