Listen to the Cries of the Dying Wind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Once, the spirit was young and free as the wind. Once, dreams ignited the passion of the heart. And once, the soul embraced the beauty and the splendor of the endless fields and grazing pastures that graced the river’s edge.

LISTEN TO THE CRIES OF THE DYING WIND

By Al Garcia

Once, the spirit was young and free as the wind.  Once, dreams ignited the passion of the heart.  And once, the soul embraced the beauty and the splendor of the endless fields and grazing pastures that graced the river’s edge. 

Those were the times when the hunger and the thirst of the human spirit and the searching human mind saw beyond the falling golden rays of sun, and yearned for rainbows where dreams were meant to grow.

It was the time before the music died, and when the melody of the wind enticed the wondering souls to dream.  It was the coming of the age of wonderment and of the shattering of innocence.  It was the era of the anointment of the sensitivities of humiliation and degradation that would enslave the human heart and enchain the spirit and the joy that once roamed wild and free. 

This was the time of the people I never knew, but who are still a part of me.  They are gone with the music and the melody that once enticed and seduced them to venture and explore new lands beyond the river’s edge.  I can still feel the essence of them, the power of them, as they tackled each challenge, each heartache, each sorrow, with true grit and humility. 

Their faces worn and tired with the ravishes of time and of the endless days of toil and nights of anguish and despair.  They were the unseen and unheard heroes of unwritten histories of the taming of the open fields and prairies along the Rio Grande that beguiled their untainted imaginations. 

Now, their forgotten lives lie in decrepit and weed-infested fields of broken stones and wooden crosses, isolated, untended and abandoned, like forsaken and discarded dreams that were never meant to be.  Yet, it was the time of their lives that shaped and formed the very lives we live today.

How sad to feel my past began to fade.  How sad to know how little will be known by those now left behind, of the once young and brave young souls who followed their dreams so long ago to a land beyond the sun and behind the rainbow, where dreams were meant to grow.  How sad to see a heritage and a legacy dissolving in the very fields of dreams that still bear the scars and wounds of those that dared to dream, despite the ordeals and the miseries that must have been endured.

I now listen to the cries of the dying wind, as echoes of the melody that once enticed and seduced enfolds my memories with passion and emotion that revives the burning embers of those who once dreamed before I came to be. 

I wish I had lived before the music died, and when the melody of the wind still enticed wondering souls to dream.


Submitted: May 23, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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