Dormant North Wind

The dormant north wind
lies low,
kept close to the floor,
pinned.

Happy enough to settle
but disturbed,
forced to blow a new,
stinging nettle.

Rushing through the forests
leaves rustling,
massacring each plant as it mows through,
not novice.

Slicing through people
jack frost,
spreading cold through their veins,
toppling steeple.

Forever venturing the lands
a wanderer,
looking for a new resting place,
hills to the sands.

No one to accompany him
a loner,
gliding over the baron sea,
wave after whim.

Love has no place in his spirit
stone cold,
his face cut and grazed,
effective stirrup.

Doomed to this for infinity
unchangeable,
for this north wind has one purpose,
reality reminder.

© Copyright of Ben Blackburn - Known as "Ben" on this website. This copyright stands for all marked and unmarked poems and quotes on this website written by Ben Blackburn. Partial or whole parts of the poem may only be used or reproduced under the autherisation of Ben Blackburn. May I stress that I have also taken precautions out of cyber space to copyright my work also.