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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 wed never dare go

alone

places where wed 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