The Windmill:A Poem
Exploring how one’s mind can be a Windmill.
How can you see a Windmill being a metaphor for one’s mind?
The Windmill of Worry: A Poem
Long, graceful arms of light mahogany,
Spinning effortlessly, causing a cacophony.
Churning cloud puffs over and over,
some for keeping, some for discarding into clover.
There has to be a way forward.
We can sing a tune to face the morbid,
as we lay down a new foundation,
securing nuts and bolts of graciousness.
The finger of fate points and spins,
Hurricanes of hardship to solve a heavenly puzzle, not cringe,
Even though, brought down to one’s knees,
In warding off the poisonous and forbidden cheese.
Mysterious whisperings of sea breezes,
fly on high and by, teasing.
hot sticky humid westerlies,
curl around one’s body, like strangling ivy melodies.
Kiss the wind,
let the clouds of softness pillow our chins.
Heightened feelings of knowing, are gnawing,
something is going on in the realms of the lowering.
The Windmill is a metaphor for
© 2017 Threekeys