Fickle Winds

Why does the wind blow fickle air? That time is but a change of wind? Where goes my heart when thrown aloft? Where goes my spirit when fallen over? As surely as my breath might unlight a flame, so too does the wind grow my fire within.

Nowhere is there where there is no air. I cannot hide from time. And so in terror I do cower. At what might come in time. My heart would rather take its flight. My mind would rather take scatter.

To know the outcome of what I fear would be my greatest fear. To put behind me time yet unpassed would be to live until that moment, living without life. For how could I live with knowing? My only hope is for time be good. But such is my desire. Where crosses truth and mine? My only hope is hope be realized.

Yet the wind blows ever fickle. And time be not enough. I wish not to know the future. I wish to make it known. Yet such denies the dues of time. And the cost is but my soul.

Be known to me, and make it true. Fulfill my great desire. Abandon not my hope unborn. Give life to me in hope. Answer me and make it so. Bring to me tomorrow. For what am I without it? Who am I in endless days?

Alas is time the deliverer. Whose flow directs the winds. Upon whom my heart does float. By whom my spirit wavers. So wait I must. And see I shall. The truth that I so fear.

Let it be. Let me be. That the wind might at last still.