The wind has brought its
army of rowdy ghosts to
the windows and doors
of the house, tonight;
“We know you’re in there,” the wind
is saying, pushing
and tugging at things.
“Why won’t you come out and play
like you use to. Come
on, man, is it true
what they’re saying, that you’ve just
taken too many
hard falls, too many
blows to the heart and head and
come up lame (and left
for dead or worse, one
of the barely-living dead)?
You’ve only got your-
self to blame, you know.
But hey, suppose we were to
bring some serious
thunder and lightning
and rain? Would that fire you up,
a little, mother-
fucker? Would that take
some of the sting from your pain?
All we want is a
little of your time
and maybe an offering
(or two) of some of
that wine you’re drinkin’,
there, for all our fallen and
missing brethren that
just never managed
to find the spirit or the
wind to rise again.
