The Winds of Change

 

The wind is blowing so hard the earth is moving beneath your feet, the leaves are falling, the flowers are beginning to bloom, they unfurl delicately, like the tiny hand of an infant, fiery pinks and milky lilacs, bursts of siren orange.

The seasons are morphing, merging, melting, turning and you’re watching it all unravel.
You’re watching it come undone.
Witnessing the evolutionary flow of this temporary existence, a transient dance through an infinite life,
the only guarantee we’ll ever know,
(everything changes)

The days grow longer, its 7pm and you’re walking home, the skies are an inky blue, the skies are the colour of a lonely ocean, the skies makes you want cry out in joy, cry out in sadness for this strange and miraculous life.
The winds blow warm upon your cheeks, you smile, it smells like summer and youth and playing outside, like your mothers touch and your parents back garden and all the things you thought you’d forgotten.
The tides of change never cease, but carry on, forever, lapping at the shoreline, crawling onto the beach, caking the sands in suds of creamy foam.
The wild, whirling ocean leaves nothing in her wake but a blanket of shells that glitter in the sun, kissed by the raging sea, left to dry in the last remnants of dusky evening light.
Everything comes and goes, goes and comes, never remaining, turning, unfurling, it all comes undone and then silently slips away, leaking out the backdoor,
you never did get to say goodbye.
Sometimes there is no closure.

(This system is unraveling at the seams)

You see it in the eyes of those who’ve been forgotten, the ones who get left behind.
The people are angry.
You see it in the eyes of the man who lives at the end of your street, wiry grey hairs impair his vision, his long nails are caked with dirt, his clothes are torn, his heart is broken, his soul poisoned by societies negligence.
He sits and begs for change.
The forgotten ones will always beg for change.
Until they stop begging…

(This systems going to fall)

Change drips from the sky like September rain.
Change bellows from the ground up, change smells like burning petrol, change sounds like shattering glass.
Change glistens in your father eyes, change mourns in your mothers absence.
(Change is the only constant)
Change is all we have.
Yet we run from it, fear it, reject it.
How can we dismiss the only lover we’ll ever keep?
We’re eating our land, we’re tearing down our trees, we’re decimating the very thing that gives us life.
How can we destroy the only mother we’ll ever need?

Change is a women sobbing.
Change is an old man begging.
Change is a wave that makes love to the coastline.
Change is a tornado ripping houses from the earth.
Change is a fire, change is a river.
Change is banging at the door angrily.
Change is demanding to be heard.
Change is screaming at us,
“Wake up, I’m here!” he cries, he shouts, she whispers softly.
“I’m never leaving”.

When will we start to listen?

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