Torn Between the Autumn Wind, and the Night Sky Poem.

Torn Between the Autumn Wind, and the Night Sky

It is autumn.

The stillness of the night has awakened me.

It is an internal reverence.

The wind whispers through the autumn leaves.

I am torn between the quietness of my room,

And the sound of the wind-which seems to carry

Voices and floats towards me through the window like rain.

But it is not raining.  The sky is clear and it is midnight.

I walk outside down a darkened road, and no one

Is around but myself.  It is I alone, except me

And the autumn wind, which caresses my face,

My hair, sighing longingly like a lover.

“Come,” sighs the wind, “come play,” as if he were

A child, instead of something that cannot be seen.

There is a break in the clouds, and the moon shines

Down on me, spilling light like a yellow brick road

Towards Oz.

Maybe there is an Oz, and maybe I should find it.

But it is autumn and I must go back home and sleep.