I was urged to follow the wind
it spills wantonly seeking all corners
with its blue/grey breath, capricious
but I know where I should aim for, so
I lean into the stinging squall,
one shoulder lower to barge down a door.
I can change this weather,
when it knows I am no longer afraid
it will relent, make peace,
I will make the dark lighten
dilute the soporific gloom
a fresher breeze will breathe life
not suck it out, then
I will straighten up, find a horizon
and intend my arrival.
© Graham Sherwood 02/2018
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