Throughout my life, I have found myself receiving the help I needed from people I didn’t even know. Whether it was a small favor or assistance with a difficult problem, a stranger has always lended me a helping hand. I’m sure I’m not the only one who wonders, ”Whatever happened to that person?” This poem is dedicated to all the mysteries, the nameless souls who live long in our memories, who have helped the world for the greater good.
The fables speak of creatures,
that live deep within the willows.
Appearing in the twilight,
dancing right over the meadows.
I saw her that December,
her hair dipped with white.
Like paint dripping from a brush,
her hair colored bright against the night.
Her eyes sparkled wildly,
pupils flickered, where I stood.
I ran back to cower,
hiding in places, where I could.
She had a voice like crumbling mountains,
her presence accompanied with dread.
She began with a single step,
and that was when I fled.
The phantom was close behind,
then the wind began to rise.
It swarmed around to guide me,
tickling lightly, like a bise.
The trees began to whisper,
“Thou must follow the breeze!”
I felt the air all around me,
moving rapidly with ease.
It coursed into my heart,
warming me deep within my core.
The beldam was far behind now,
she faded away from me, more and more.
She finally left my sight,
as I was thrown to the winter floor.
I could no longer feel the wind;
its aura slammed away, like a door.
The fables warned of creatures,
that live deep within the willows.
For they will take your being,
you must never approach the meadows.
Curious that December day,
almost like a parlor trick.
I never felt the wind again,
not even a little flick.
In my life I found myself asking,
for I cannot erase my sin.
I ask the trees in the willows,
“Please tell me, what of the wind?”
