Mercy of the Wind
by Kelly Miller, MSIV
There is a young sapling tree swaying in the wind
My, how it dances, and my, how it can bend
Reflecting in a young child's eyes, it settles with the breeze
All is now unearthly calm, and it puts the boy off ease
Where did this tree come from? How is it so small?
Will it too, grow to touch the sky, with the others will it sprawl?
"It's time for supper, dear!" Silence shattered, the scene is moot
The young child runs to the kitchen as the young tree begins to root
The tree will root, the branches shoot, the trunk grows firm and tall
The sapling that once trembled is now sturdy as a wall
But the boy, ah the man, is now taller, yes, but frail
He who once had doubt is now the one who won't prevail
He's stricken by the weakness, now lives a life of pain
The tree now envied for its strength, the same eyes filled with disdain
Who chooses how one gets to live? Who chooses how one dies?
Who is this strange, almighty one who ignores my every cry?
I, with love and longing, and purpose to pursue,
Bound to bed and rotting, where this hollow tree has grown?
With polluting thoughts all racing, a pointless, mindless chase
Again the wind will blow, but this time softly across his face
The wind orchestrates a dance again, but this time with his thoughts
The lines of life and death and good and bad, the search is all for naught
Because where it starts and where it ends is not up to her or him
But what is is the time that lies between, just hanging by a whim
He laid his head back, closed his eyes
Shed a tear, but grinned
Finding comfort in the fact that
We're all at the mercy of the wind