Ever Shifting

No one dares question the wind.

Have you ever noticed that fact?

Meteorologist might state, neighbors might complain,

but none of them wonder why.

Scientists search for the grand “how”;

timing and direction are mercilessly calculated.

But the “why”, the ultimate inquisition,

is overlooked forgotten denied unnecessary desired.

For, what would be found otherwise?

Imagine the question, the curiosity entertained.

Were the question asked, however unlikely,

would an answer even be given?

Would the wind, in its glory,

grace our petulant curiosity with knowledge?

I mean, can you blame it?

Privacy and inner desires are sacred.

I daydream of stranded ships, rocking,

rocking to the ghosts they shun.

But here! a wind appears, swift.

It carries those stranded, guides sails.

The ghosts dissipate among the gusts.

Not a single sailor knows why,

knows the motive behind the madness,

this windy whirling propelling blessed madness.

And, oddly, none care to ask.

What a poetic silent prayer answered.

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