Wind
©2001 Garrett Clevenger
E riff
If you've ever had the
Wind blow sand into your eyes, you know one things for sure:
E riff
smashing silicon is as
sharp as a scissor. You'll spit and
curse the Wind to cure the
Am
anger that you feel as
the dust burns your nose, whose snots drying round the rim.
E riff
Watching as your money
scatters long the sidewalk, merging with the traffic closing in.
F
C Eriff Your spit hits the ground below.
F
G Ariff Splattering a Bug who did not know.
If you've ever been a
bug whose been spit on by a human, you know one thing is true:
warm sticky loogies
will clutter up your wings and keep you from flying through the blue.
When you finally
clean yourself and go gliding through the sky, flying to your leafy nest,
you'll stop off at
the nearest pear tree for some nectar, craving for the very best.
Probing it so
deep. Fertilize the flower so it might
reap.
If you've ever been a
flower whose been feeding lots of bugs, you know one thing will be:
it tickles when they
wiggle their feet down your pedals, lapping all your nectaries.
When they bring you
pollen from the flower from the valley and spread it all over your face,
you know they
wouldn't make it if the Wind hadn't blown them across that overcrowded space.
You bear the seed of
distant lands. From you will emerge a
might stand.
If you've ever been a
plant who is different from your neighbors, on this you can depend:
you'll look a little
funny when you're leaving in the Sunlight and your twigs are twisting in the
Wind.
But you are growing
stronger, your limbs are looking longer, your roots live deep within
the soil that holds
you as the Wind blows around you, chilling you to the skin.
You have
realized. You have learned to thrive.
If you've ever been a
pistal in a flower in full bloom, one thing stays the same:
there are a million
other flowers who are hoping that their honey will bring a few pollen grains.
The ones who don't
get some will be waiting for the Wind to bring same strange anthers seed
so they might get a
chance to feel the sensation of fulfilling their fruity need.
They've been blown to
you. You will grow a fruit.
If you've ever been a
fruit who is hanging from a branch, one thing will be found:
you'll feel very
juicy as the summer's wearing thin and your friends have all smashed the
ground.
You'll see the Wind
lifting their Souls from their body, drifting down to the street,
filling up the nose
of the one who is sniffing, now she's found something sweet.
Climbing up the
hill. She goes for the kill.
If you've ever been a
human who has picked a ripe fruit, you should be aware:
before you sink your
teeth, remember that the Breeze led you to this luscious pear.
The first bite you
take will drip down your face and mingle with the moss below,
splattering a bug who
is feeding with a slug on a corpse they have come to know.
Let your course begin. Just don't course the Wind.