Bridling the Wind
I can't stop the sands from being cast into the sea.
I can't hold the sun or catch a falling star.
It isn't within me. It isn't even about me.
I can't ride the wild horse or stop the stampede.
I can't change the time back to where it was when I was in the lead.
I am breathing hard and fast but still out of breath, alas.
What could this all mean? Is there still this hope that swells fast?
Will it last?
It's a funny thing about passion. It's even ironic and strange how the wind blows fiercely over, lashing while I still hold the reins. I am bridling the wind.
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