I have spoken to the wind

I have spoken to the wind
And in its whisperings
Has brought me back to wheat fields
Swaying and buffeting against a ruby sky.
The blood red moon silent in its doom
And the faint taste of winter in the air.

Harvest has always been
The most depressing time,
Where life is finally subdued
To meet the needs of the living.
The calvary of the seasons
Where nature dies to resurrect itself again.

So it was with you who fled but never left,
Oblivious to every danger
But in constant peril,
Living a life against the yolk of freedom.
Trying to be what you could never be.
Unwilling to see a world that was different
From what you thought should be
You left us long before you went away
I saw it in your eyes,you could not stay.


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