Wind at midnight

So, I wrote this poem on March 10, 2011 — earlier this year.  Weird how “this year” will soon turn to “last year.”  Time can sure be scary.

Anyway, this poem describes perfectly, I think, what I was feeling.  Mind you, the “wind” I speak of wasn’t necessarily a beautiful thing.  It was my conscience, my God, speaking to me, trying to get my attention.  I was depressed — REALLY depressed — and I blocked Him out.  But for some reason, I wrote this poem.  I didn’t know what the “wind” was.  I had no idea, really.  But I knew it was important.  So here it is.  And I know what it is, now.


The wind blows through

my mind;


Sometimes it comes

at midnight,

When I can’t fall asleep;


It comes subtly at first,

like a raindrop


And translucent

And misty,


And sometimes I don’t notice.


Other times, it’s a flood —

it drenches me

And I cannot breathe.


One day maybe I’ll awake

And I’ll understand

what it has to tell me.



Picture courtesy


2 responses to “Wind at midnight

  1. Pingback: Poem: She Marched On « Three Sixty

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