15/7/2021
The etesian winds arrive; fierce and unyielding,
they take my worries away with their sleight of hand.
Carrying them away in some hidden place,
where they go to rest when the timid morning comes.
Piled up on stolen leaves and washed-out tree barks,
where those fine zephyrs make their nest;
and I honestly do wonder, if my dreadful thoughts
make for a comfortable bed;
for I too oftentimes catch myself finding comfort in them.
And yet, it remains quite the advantageous exchange,
for both my mind and the winds;
replacing my pain with music--with the wild wails of the seas--
while the summer tempest, like fuel it feeds on my restlessness,
snarfing it up so it can fitfully rustle the scattered Cyclades.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
