What the Wind Promised

I want to be free from this world.

To walk among trees shivering before the break of dawn.
To sleep in a field cradled by the last sigh of dying light.

I want to be free from this world.

To breathe the sharp air—cold, crisp, untamed—
the same wind that crowned the heights of those before me.
To seek companionship in a million scattered jewels
spinning above the dark dome of night.

I want to be free from this world.

To wade into water at my waist,
its cool hands tugging at me like memory.
To let the sky’s grief fall in infinite drops,
disguising my own hidden tears.

I want to be free from this world.
To be sun-kissed, to be solar-scorched—
to sink into the wild’s furnace,
a burnt devotion chasing the wind’s call.

I want to be free from this world.

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A Name the Forest Knows