WENDY HAMMOND & MATTHEW RETOSKE

What Becomes of the Winds That Drive Us Still

What becomes of the winds that drive us still
And freeze fierce flesh to skeleton remains
Of marrowless words from a quivering quill?

The winds ever-changing, always whispering things
It can crawl in calm, melt skin, restrain
With timeless words from a pen with wings

Storms strum but a brief dirge on field and hill
To charm spellbound barley astride the plains,
What becomes of the winds that drive us still?

Oh meadow of growth, the sad songs it sings
Wildflowers swaying in melancholy rains
The winds ever-changing, always whispering things

They burrow the core of burnt earth until
The pulp turns to naught but the rotting strains
Of marrowless words from a quivering quill.

Unearthed, the roar, with a mighty sting
A blistering sight, to spread the flames
With timeless words from a pen with wings

When heat has supplanted the orphan chill
And a motherless morning aches for rains,
What becomes of the winds that drive us still?

It is in such yearnings, the thirst it brings
Devours the twinge, then wipes off the stains
The winds ever-changing, always whispering things

Clouds cast a cloak of silence on the rill
And a pure hush sheds these babbling chains
Of marrowless words from a quivering quill.

The permanence of scars, in circular rings
The gust and the spin, where rambling drains
With timeless words from a pen with wings

When I, of earthly breath, have had my fill,
And life no more this shattered shell contains,
What becomes of the winds that drive us still-
Of marrowless words from a quivering quill?

When my ashes are blowing, spit like awakenings
And I am faced with myself, holding my name
The winds ever-changing, always whispering things
With timeless words from a pen with wings

copyright WENDY HAMMOND & MATTHEW RETOSKE