Poem: Weaver of Wind (1)


Down through these streets

I fly

With golden eye

And silver dye

Running down my back

And through my hair

Where it was meant

To be

Wings spread wide I take to the sky

The cut of the ground lost to me-


Because it is away that I must die

Away from this city and its cold



The buildings standing stark

And alone in the night

Bereft of men

Bereft of mice

Screaming out in the air

Primal and loud

A laugh on its heels

Like drifting white cloud

Flowing up from my chest

As I turn in midflight

Spinning around

My heart taken with fright

As I catch sight of earth

So close to my head

I flap my wings once

To rid me of dread

To rid me of hate

And the most terrible fear

That I’ve been followed

Followed even here

Joy fills me then

Strange but not queer

Cold and not hot

Free yet of tears

That flow down my face

Unattached and unashamed

Falling back down

To the ground to be tamed

But not me I swear

I will stay wild

In the air out here

In the sky like a child

Without pain or terror

Without hate in my heart

Weaving the wind

As it is my art.


©2012 Sam Oliver (Eris)


A poem in parts. And we know how that works! I dunno when the next part(s) will be done. Eventually I guess, as the fancy strikes me. But this isn’t the last of it. Or maybe it is! I’ll leave it up to you guys. Should I?? Shouldn’t I??