Peace In Whistling Winds

The sounds outside are singing the steady beat of winter,

A gale force whistling through open avenues of structure.

It’s well into the twilight and he wonders again the time,

How the hours ahead will prove beneficial than aghast.

All he has in front of him is the light of a quiet journal,

One contains all the ideals and strains he experiences.

These days of winter and long nights that tire him,

A constant appraisal of his present society of loss.

He’ll sleep eventually falling back into the dreams,

The journeys that bring him closer to some insight

To help him understand the painful realities nearby,

Those telling moments, those truths, the stark silence.

It’s in this midnight mystique, he lets his fingers tap,

Always finding inspiration in hopes his mind find peace.