THE WINDOW

I watch the thin, white curtains of my bedroom window rise and fall, with the breath of the cool night air. Outside I can hear a dog barking and the occasional rustle of leaves; as they dance across our concrete drive. There is a train in the far off distance, the sound building to a force of great urgency, then gently dying off as the tragedy passes. All is quiet once more; save for the wind.

If you are patient and you listen very carefully, you may hear the sounds of passing souls, as they ride along the intricate waves of wind in an attempt to deal with their own deaths. The air itself has a feel all its own; rising to a tremendous battle, then falling to a low crawl of defeat.

Oh, but were I the wind…Were I the messenger of promises to keep, things to come, or devils to fear. I can almost feel its caress at the base of my neck. It teases my hair and causes Goosebumps to appear against my skin, then filters silently out through the mesh screen of the window. How I wish I could understand all that you could tell me.

The darkness outside my window fights to hide the things it does create. My fear of the everlasting darkness does not quell my fascination for its never ending void. There are so many secrets it must hold; anything can happen in the pitch black of night. Though many are wise to close their doors and shutters against the threat, I feel the need to breathe the air and contemplate my one true fear. I wonder if this will be the night?

The wind is increasing, howling through my small room at will now. It has suddenly turned cold, yet as I reach to close my window, I cannot. My lone candle flickers and dances its final dance, leaving me in strict darkness. My eyes adjust, seemingly easily, to the ebony that surrounds me as the wind calls to me, but I shall not answer. My fear has robbed me of my voice. It shall be soon, and I believe I am ready.

He appears in my room, from nowhere, draped in a long cloak of shimmering darkness. He holds no relative form, yet I know that He is there. He whispers to me, his voice the very wind that earlier caressed me. I am at ease, as He pulls his cloak around me, but I feel a sudden tightness and grow fearful.

Then, as gently as a feather’s fall, I am free. There is no pain, no sorrow, only pleasure and light, as we begin our journey into the night. I glance back upon my prone body, which I no longer require. I shall miss what it represents.

(For the victims of Cancer and AIDS.)

 

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Filed under Poems and Prose

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