The Wind

I cannot control the wind
or it’s constant metamorphose,
I listen to the rustling of the leaves,
and watch the tree tops sway,
I feel it’s force against my cheeks
as my heels dig into the ground

I fight achingly against each sudden surge,
and lean in with all my might,
while it gainfully gusts,
and steadily swirls,
any way it chooses,
with no conscience, no regret

until I’m left squarely standing,
slightly swaying like the tops of trees,
I close my eyes, feet firmly planted,
listening to more than the leaves

I hear my inner voice, shouting,
‘I have not acquiesced’

for, I know,
I cannot control the wind,
nor can it control me

-Image credit rhads.deviantart.com, a beautiful piece of art!; reworking of an older poem, one of my favorites