Roaring wind

They called it wind,
but it was breath
of something vast —
not beast, not god,
but spine of earth,
awake and raw,
so loud it split
the sky in half.

I stood and shook
and knew, not knew —
that nothing holds
in silent woods.
Beneath this hush
(so black, so dead),
with bony fingers
it grips the thread.
It holds my soul,
and haunts my mind —

no way to hide,

it breathes inside.

I want to feel
what’s truly true —
not echoes caught
in gravel grooves.

I want to touch
what doesn’t fade —
a pulse that stays
when silence plays.
But all I hold
is trembling air.
And all I hear
is almost there.

29.05.2025