Like The Wind
Dancing colors rattle by
Dry shells of foliage caught in your hair
Clothes of tree-bark and dust
Ripping up from the flat earth
Engulfing the prairie
You run
Quivering blades of grass tremble
As your feet rip through them
Swiveling pearl-white seeds of dandelion
Naught but ankle bracelets
you twirl
Time stops as you strip
Giants of their amazing jewels
Leaving but bare arms to scratch the sky
To groan as their bare hands sway
You whip
Through the ocean currents
Stopping the waves, smashing them
Ripping apart the coastline
Yet You are always the gentle breeze to me,
You are the wind
I am but me
Yes, I wanted to add this, this poem was something I wrote as a preface to the story but I forgot to post it before chapter 1. I wrote the poem before the story, and then I took the title from the poem. Johnny was like the wind in the poem, sort of like something you can't cage up or anything. I can't explain it. Well, whatever…