through the sidewalk, the wind blows.
where it is going, nobody knows.
I am the wind.
passing quiet, passing lonely.
the only one, the one and only.
the sole soul of the wind.
but on these blackened streets,
there are only leaves to blow.
in their dissapointment,
they lay limp.
scattered to the mercy of my hand.
just the leaves and I.
I, the wind.
these empty streets,
with apartment complexes and highrises,
so unforgiving as they stand.
empty.
though shadows dance inside.
they were once there,
now empty husks.
I, wind.
alone.
a stage for my own,
with the best seat in the house.
my stage is the stars, the streetlights
the buildings.
my orchestra are the leaves,
the city noises.
the wailing siren.
as the climax approaches.
they have come for me.
wind.
.
.
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