The winter winds lately
haven’t been so harsh.
They wisp against my cheeks,
and bring serenity to my state of mind.
I pretend that they are angels,
softy caressing me,
reminding me that there is more than I can see.
(Is it enough to change oneself?)

The whispers and whistles that come as winter does say,
“Be calm, little one,
this too will pass with the breeze.”
They sometimes spoil me,
and wash away those bitter thoughts
with winds that chill my mind.
But that chill is often much like you;
cold and unmoving as stone.
(It does not change.)

I am carried by winds,
like a bird soaring on air,
my eyes forced open to see what is in front of me.
It shows me things
I am usually too naïve to notice.
There’s the wooden house on the corner
that I suppose I pass every day.
And there I am,
better without you.
(I cannot change what my eyes can see.)

Disappointment haunts every word
I manage to write upon this page.
Winds turn pages for me,
and I oblige.
I hope to make you proud,
as every father should be.
I hope to make you weep with happiness.
But you never read my words to their deserved extent,
so I suppose my wishes are irrelevant.
(I cannot change you.)

My ripped blue jeans let the wind come in
like a welcomed friend.
My knees quiver when I remember,
but I will never forget the cold
invading my body.
It told me what I already knew
but didn’t accept.
(I want to change the truth so bad,
but you’re gone.)

Winds turn over remainders from past seasons
and bring not only remembrance but discovery.
With a turned leaf I see both glimpses
into what-could-have-beens and
what never was.
I wonder how it could have been different,
and if it all was really a lie.
(The past will never change.)

Yet a strong, fulfilling part of me knows
that these winds lead to the future.
They travel further than this small town
where my family and I have planted our memories
like crops.
Soon I will follow them;
I’m sure they will lead me to my dreams.
(Is it possible to change the future?)

I will step outside in these days that lie ahead,
and feel the soft spurring wind against my dry cheeks.
I will feel the cold,
and breathe in the sweet smell of air.
It’s pure and honest.
The wind will dry the tears that haven’t come yet.
It will heal what hasn’t yet hurt.
(It can change the way I feel.)

Gusts blow my curtains away from my window.
They knock my mirror off the wall.
I need not see what is in front of me.
I need only see what is inside of me.
(No one can change me but me.)

So let me float away on my
magic carpet made of wind.
Let me go where I can
be alone with the rest of the world
at my side.
It will take me where you cannot tell me your lies,
and I cannot hear them.
(The wind will never change,
so neither shall I.)