I should be glad, for I am with the wind.
All is well as I greet a new dawn.
Free are new winds that I ride upon.
Yet I ride them alone, as I have before.
When I listen within, I hear howling wind.
I need something more.
My artistry fades and my songs subside.
Quiet cascades and naught else inside.
Why sing for no loves? Why write for no hearts?
I seek to confide in that which I am denied.
Am I to repeat this damned refrain?
Empty hands reach to feel my passing breeze.
With gliding fingers, they can grasp with ease.
Yet none ever do, those fingers ne’er lock.
Hard as I grasp the wind pulls me away, and no hands hold back to make me stay.
Forced to continue, these winds carry my sigh.
I am with the wind, I should be glad.
Shouldn’t I?
