By: Eric Trinh
The wind whistling through the trees,
blowing me toward the ground.
Twisting, turning, and tumbling,
slowly going down.
I can feel i’m reaching near death.
Remembering I was born greener than every tree in the forest,
turning brown as the ground itself.
I’m trying to reach the air again,
so it can blow me to anywhere I desire.
That is only a dream now.
Reaching near death,
I’m slowly starting to lose sight.
I suddenly hear the wind again.
This wind doesn’t sound the same as before.
As I hear the sound coming closer,
it pushed me vigorously on top of others.
Everyone gets pushed into a bag that has the darkest of a black hole.
Now I can finally rest.
The wind is only a dream again.