I am naught but a windblown thought

And nobody can see the wind

Only the mark it leaves on the world

And nobody puts the wind in their active thoughts

Until it’s a whipping, blowing storm

My name is forgotten at the nightfall

Only to be remembered at the morn when I’m seen again

They speak of my name only to curse it

To damn me for felling trees and taking lives

I am loved when I am calm and gentile

But when I am a raging storm

A ravenous catastrophe of thunder and nerium

They run, and they hide, and they pray

Until I am the summer’s breeze once again

I return to my place as a passive notation

 An invisible windblown thought

Until the storm starts once again