The Requiem

Above me the sky grows darker
The wind bristles and spins me farther
Branches and twigs scrape as I float by
Like hands clawing to keep me dry

But on I weave till I meet the sea
Far from these reeds that tangle me
Till soon their screams become a whisper
A perfect silence growing crisper

So don’t fret for me my dearest ones
I was not cut by their sharpened tongues
I was not sodden by their dampened moods
I’ve found true comfort in my solitude