Silly Whim

The window was open.

It was the birth of a new season,

The sun, slashing her atmosphere

With blades so bright

She failed to see the ghosts

Through the day glow dust motes.

It was a different sort of opportunity

The open window provided.

The classic known versus unknown

With a sour twist

A clenched fist

Clutched tight round the tendrils

Of herself blowing in the breeze

Spring was a time for blossoms

Even petals of a poisonous nature

The less she fought

The less it hurt

She floated long

Like an abandoned kite

Caught in the hand of a stranger

Who couldn't control her string

The winds blew her through summer

Cast her upon the clouds

Autumn ignited

Like a pinprick below

But the weight of winter

In a frozen sky

Meant weightless,

She could not survive.

And all the ghosts

And all the fists

Were waiting to reel her in.

To close the window

On her silly whim.

For fear that she might

Fly again.

NH

2014