The Cowardly Wind

I despise the wind, it is never there when I need it. Whirling and wonderfully blissful when I was brought into this life. But it is now a violent whirlwind present at the death of my soul. The wind is the source of my strife. It used to gently kiss my fresh cheek and add a delightful breeze to my summer days. Now the wind rips out the seeds of happiness which I have so carefully tended to. It's strong gusts take my breath away with its catastrophic destruction.        I call on it when my days are heavy with heat but the wind does not humor me with even the slightest draft. Oh, how I yearn for the day to be still and the sky blue. The wind shakes me like the branches of a gentle willow tree when I attempt to advance in life. It blows into my days only for brief moments then leaving behind a sickening aroma of cheap cologne and putrid lies, it is rightfully named the cowardly wind. The wind blows in a fog which distorts my view of what a real father should be. It erodes my hope like the vulnerable rocks at the mercy of the ocean's crashing waves, I am not broken, but hopelessly jaded.        However, like the carefully crafted skyscrapers, I shall rise above and stand strong in the face of the wind. It will never shake my foundation and I shall see above the distorting fog, my soul shall be revived. 

This poem is about: 
My family


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