Angry Winds

Beneath the withering bloom of hope

Seeds of discord lie festering

Infants swaddled in sorrow’s husk

Chafed souls cast to bitter wind

Dupe of fate’s cruel favor

Bereft of hopeful sustenance

Left to bear their fading torch

Meanwhile…

On distant leeward hillside

Sunlight bathes the fields

Blustering orange blooms

Rife with the promise

Splendorous in coats of green

Deeply rooted in fertile earth

Ardent in thirst for tomorrow

Unsuspecting…

Heedless of the nettled seeds

Blown by trumpet of angry wind

Bound straight in hope’s direction

 

 

 

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About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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