Language Of The Wind

I heard the wind and the words it spells.
In summer days or cold winters.

Or in prison cells.
The wind can whisper oh so quiet.
In your ear,you hear it so well.

And feel entranced in a spell.
The wind has its own language.
But not everybody understands.

Something like a forbidden romance.
Will it whisper words of despair?
Or maybe compliments?

Among the sky so fair?
Will it always say the truth.
Or does the wind lie?

Maybe if you ask it,it will help you fly.
The wind softly comforts when you cry.
Carries you to the afterlife when you die.

With hands,gentle and strong.
And it faintly sings its song.
The wind’s alphabet is not long.

It goes,woosh!
And then you feel the cold,crisp air.
The wind is gentle,but still there.

And it does actually care.
When you cried,it looked at you so sadly.
And the sensation of the wind comforts you gladly.

The wind is wild and free.
Birds and clouds live among it.
And it sings its siren like song.

Oh wind,help my ship sail.
Hold my wings up in the sky.
Pick me up and let me fly.

Soothe me when I cry.
So my soul is at peace when I die.
Which won’t be soon,hear me out.

The wind is gentle,rarely loud.
Hold me up as I bump into a cloud.
And make my family and friends proud.

Clear out the crowd so I’m not anxious.
Could you please set me free?
I won’t flee when you hold me.

Don’t deny the words you tell me.
Could I try and sleep on a cloud?
If I try my best, will everyone be proud?

Wind captures the prison cells.
Freedom is what it shows and tells.
Wind will free you from your prison cell.

It will heal you with the fairytales it tell.
Oh wind,hold me in your arms.
For the world starved me of genuine touch.

You may be air,but it comforts as much.
Help me heal and flee.
Heal the wounds that bleed.