Shivers through trees,
Knocks on shuttered windows,
Begs for attention.
What does it cry out for
With no voice of its own?
It finds objects to imitate a scream,
Rustles pleas that soothe or bite.
Is it solitude that drives the madness?
Thrashing movements, flurried air.
Maybe it cries for a companion,
Sighing when there is no answer.
Separated by misunderstandings,
No sound, no sight to create.
Only able to force others
To howl and tremble.
The wind must be so lonely.