My Poem ‘The Windmill’

Through the forest; through the trees;
through an opening, to a cornfield;
there, standing tall in the distance, my talisman is revealed.
The instant I see it I immediately race towards it at full-speed-
ever-present and all-around me there is an energy,
an anticipation, a focus, and a need.
The windmill is all that I see; the windmill is all that I know;
not even the waist-high corn of this field
can keep me from where I want to go.
I am like a man possessed: running, leaping,
forging a path where before there was none-
the closer I get, the faster I run;
the higher it towers, the more hypnotized by it I become.
The Windmill, the tower: a majestic memento of ingenuity,
and symbiosis.
A windmill, an artefact: a constant, akin to that of an oasis.
As I stand at the windmills base
looking up at it’s intricate sails,
the windmill’s wheel begins to spin,
as if it were being turned by the gust of a gale.
The clouds above me clear; the windmill’s sails are now still;
the blue sky above me looks so inviting;
I feel as if I am in the presence of an ethereal will.
I stand transfixed; energized, emotional,
protective of what stands before me;
and after what seems like a lifetime of looking, I finally see…
myself, my younger self,
standing at the base of the windmill looking at me from below-
as if I were now the windmill,
and my younger self had come to say hello.
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