A Windy Night

I sit here waiting to go home
I take notice of the gushing air
The window bouncing
Like waves bouncing against the sand.

Listening to what the wind says
As it blows its strength
Listening to how it’s fuming
To the short calms we await

Fearlessly blowing
Taking anything in its way
Putting fear of a breaking window
Fall inwardly on my covered head.

Blowing faster than a speeding bullet
Flirting with it as I walk out the door
Blowing to drop me as fast
There I go, falling
To no big catch
As I’m dragged home…

Nothing like feeling the air blowing
Or, Nothing,
Like feeling its raging sound of wind
Or, Nothing,
Like feeling me slip under the covers.



Photograph by Jordan McQueen

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Thomas DeAngelo

This is a writer of modern poetry and an inspiring writer. Residing in the lower Appalachian mountains of Pennsylvania where he enjoys reading, writing and is his spare time hiking. He has been writing since the 1980's with expectations of being published. The words that flow by ink are the defeats and enjoyments of the life lived in the years that accompanied the mind of a writer that measured his time recognizing the passions of surrounding people.

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