Whispers

How simple are the changes of the wind,
And still the people know nothing of life,
So all day long they think they have not sinned,
When they spend their time dealing with the strife.

The breeze that blows always comes and goes with
What seems to be sweet and peaceful ease,
Yet people always turn fact into myth,
That is why they sail across the dark seas.

How strange it must be to be a sailor,
And fly across the water with no light,
Sew together madness like a tailor,
And never find an end as though you might.

How cool the wind must feel across the face,
Of he who tried so hard to keep its pace.