The Night Belongs to the Wind

redmosquito10

A cold wind scrapes the shingles on my roof tonight
stabs at my eyes, and grasps at each leaf that hasn’t already succumbed
to gravity, or air, or a simple loss of the will to hold on.
This is no quiet night, no evening of simple secrets hidden behind a bright moon.
This is a night of old, when the elements slip from their hidden caves
and cavort with a joy not felt since they had complete dominion of this earth.
The wind is not dancing, it is catching its second wind, somewhat ironically,
and we’ve all forgotten the indiscriminate power contained within.
Darkness suits dark beings and dark forces,
forces that windows and doors do little to keep at bay.
Stars are not winking happily, leading a lost traveler home,
they are distant and dull,
perhaps afraid of the wild that any sentient being can sense has been unleashed
each tree clutches at every passing stare,
a primitive war dance,
a long-forgotten awakening of passion.
A night that is worth remembering

redmosquito10

throw a period after unleashed, capitalize each. this no edit button thing is really turning me into a somewhat diligent typer, kind of