The wind roars, distant at first
and then more insistent, rattles the windows
the wind whistles
a high-pitched, ear splitting whine
the wind knocks
at my door
shoves everything against the ticking clock
where I feel the pulse
the beating of the wind
the fever that’s struck
out of fear
that the wind will turn silent,
leave a gaping hole between its last sigh
and its whisper –
and my hope –
that the wind will carry something new,
some words will blow my way
when it comes back around.
NaPoWriMo Day 8 – Write a poem that relies on repetition.
Poetic Asides – Write a panic poem.