Wind chimes of reason

The silent breeze speaks but in a whisper
A soft waft of air that rings the chime
Teasing it to let out a tortured breath
Short, succinct like an escape of a forbidden moan

What does it all mean?
When meaning lies hidden in sounds
That betrays the passion of a whisper
In the absence of a whisperer…

The mind plays simple games
With an unsure conscience
A gentle reminder to a summer’s frolic
And an all too quick, stolen fondle

When the winds change direction
Or grow in gusty strength
It forsakes all modesty
To the greedy eye that lustily gazes

The mind begins to make slow sense
Of sounds that has been stringed with conditions,
Like a pampered pretender’s knot
Which belies false intentions and honest mistakes

When the silent breeze raises it voice
In the brute clanging of fornicating chimes
At these times sudden recollections give way
To bare naked realization of circumstance

Time is ripe for ritual surrender
For after-thought and retrospection
Cloudy hesitation giving way to clarity
When the pulsating air flushes out all confusion

As the breeze sighs its retreat
And the air stands to attention
It leaves behind an imagined echo
The released, final moan of the tired chimes

- 1 November 2009