Poem 3 wind/air
What is this force that pushes me?
Why does it spin the leaves around in a playful circle?
How long have the birds used it to travel, to hunt, to move to play?
Where does it begin or end? Nowhere and everywhere it is wind.
Gently it curls about my feet, strongly it whips my hair,
The trees that bend live longer than the ones that break in the path of the storm.
People are like this too, but those who do not bend sometimes cause others to bend for them,
the strength of their will is a storm that leaves destruction and carnage in its wake,
but lets the forest of humanity have some room to grow.