Passion is the Wind
Passion is the wind
that moves us
sways us
takes us
up
in her arms
and
shakes us
And
given strength
enough
uproots us
tearing us
away
from all that is sane
and reasonable
It is
passion
that swells
beneath the waves
of our uncertain hearts
and casts them
against
the fearful
breakers
of indifferent
shores
It is
passion
that sustains us
against insurmountable
odds
Passion is the
wind
that soothes us
sweeping through
our outstretched arms
and carries us
to the furthest reaches
of our dreams
places where we’d never dare go
alone
places where we’d never dare go
again
places more desolate
and magical
than we could ever dare
imagine
places where
the heart
stops
beating
where the breath waits
and listens
for
some silent permission
before breathing again
places where every second counts
and
between seconds
there is no time
or distance
Passion is
the wind
that leads us
out of our
darkness
and back again
it is
passion
that breaths life into the fire
that
consumes us
or snuffs it out
and scatters our ashes
or
rekindles us
Without it
we are like dust
that settles
on an unopened book
Unmoved
by the
passage of years
Untouched
by all but aging
stories untold
pressed
between the pages
of unexplored
hopes
and fading visions
Passion is the wind
that
blows the sand
high over the walls
of forgotten
tombs
Temples
where we
worshiped
love
and were sacrificed
on its alter
where our silent prayers
lie buried beneath
the
desert
that passion
left behind
The place is unrecognizable now
We retrace our steps
back and forth
sure that once
this was the spot
Where
jasmine bloomed
at night
and laughter
trickled
like a fountain
Passion is
the wind
that dries us
into
leather
and we sleep
wrapped in
the linen
that once fluttered
like a sail
on a jeweled
sea
We wait
unsure if we could
rise
unbroken
bound so
by grief
and if the moon
shone on us
could we dance
till dawn
or simply
stand
frozen
at the edge
of a silver field
afraid of falling
Passion is
the wind
that howls
down the dark
street
were
we hesitate
before knocking
on the
unfamiliar
door
And
passion
is the gentle
caress
that turns up the leaves
and rocks
the cradle
before the
bough
breaks
And passion
is the wind
that
carries us
the unplanted seeds
And
passion
is the storm
that brings
the rain
that
renews our lives
or
washes us away
Passion is the wind
that
passes
like a specter
in the night
a
restless heart
that walks
the corridors
of a still house
A creak
a thump
a
muffled cry
a sudden chill
a shimmer
in the air
a scent
that
hints of jasmine
Passion is
the wind
that haunts
the vast
unopened sky
and moves unseen
like memories
between
the stars
Passion
is the wind
that fills our wings
when we
dare to fly