*play for mood*
I murmur my words to the blowing wind,
To drift on the breeze contained therein.
Words, words, more words, I do say;
To no one in particular, every single day.
Sometimes the wind carelessly blows them back,
As if outraged at me, intimidating with fury it’s attack.
Sometimes it blows mildly past,
Bringing back the words I have amassed.
Will anyone perceive them, who can say?
It doesn't matter if they're carried away.
What's spoken is spoken, there's no one to listen,
My tirade of words in unique unison.
I recite to the wind but it doesn't reciprocate,
It just howls and hoots at what I alliterate.
There's no one to listen, no one to hear;
No one to care about what I hold dear.
I converse to the wind, tuned in; anticipating sounds;
Which it transmits as it drifts and floats around.
I murmur my words to the blowing wind,
To drift on the breeze contained therein.
Words, words, more words, I do say;
To no one in particular, every single day.
Sometimes the wind carelessly blows them back,
As if outraged at me, intimidating with fury it’s attack.
Sometimes it blows mildly past,
Bringing back the words I have amassed.
Will anyone perceive them, who can say?
It doesn't matter if they're carried away.
What's spoken is spoken, there's no one to listen,
My tirade of words in unique unison.
I recite to the wind but it doesn't reciprocate,
It just howls and hoots at what I alliterate.
There's no one to listen, no one to hear;
No one to care about what I hold dear.
I converse to the wind, tuned in; anticipating sounds;
Which it transmits as it drifts and floats around.
