Standing in the wind tasting the <br />air as it rushes past me, I am <br /> <br />surprised that the sound of life <br />has not generated more excitement. <br /> <br />Trees glow with their own power <br />and the leaves of summer burn <br /> <br />brightly green through my mind. <br />I wonder about the looping branches <br /> <br />of an ordinary life. Sustained by hope, <br />I imagine the being out of doors for <br /> <br />the remainder of my life. The bustling <br />grass inviting me to lie down and enjoy <br /> <br />the patterns of nature as it rumbles <br />through the day. I find myself in the <br /> <br />midst of something I will not understand. <br />There seem to be rumours and false <br /> <br />information floating around my thoughts. <br />I take a drag of my cigarette, and as I do <br /> <br />it starts to gently rain. I continue to stand <br />in it, getting wet. After so much nothing <br /> <br />I hear something is going to happen and <br />I know it might possibly affect me. I know <br /> <br />that whispered voices always mean mystery <br />and finally with anticipation I shut myself <br /> <br />away from the sound of dissension. I am <br />only here, with little chance of renewal.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/standing-in-the-wind-2/
