Ink Rising

White.
Cold.
Yet loving.
The beams embrace a thousand words that wrap around the dark aura.
Wind, gentle wind, caresses my hair as the beams smack against the sides of the building.
Only the wind can smack harder or more gently.
A bark carries simultaneously across wind and beams.
But
only the wind knows it.
Caress the stone in the sky with a gentle breeze.
Skip the beams across the surface of the wind.
Wind.
Moon.
Two lost lovers, neither one knowing of the other ones existence.
Only the moon can see what the wind's ears cannot hear.
See it. Listen to it.
Movement and repose.
The ocean defies both as it wishes for the wind and orb to rise.
Waves, pattern. Waves, pattern.
On and on, defying the whims of the wind.
The moon laughs with its beams.
The sky smirks at all.
The ground is blissfully unaware of the turmoil of peace.
All sigh together.
All cry together.
All die together.