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…