The Wind Farm

Written by James Christopher Sheppard

Maybe,

I’m ok being alone?

Hidden away

at times like treasure

at times like bones

crushed

and hoarded like a newspaper from the day I was born.

Pointlessly wasting time,

Is this hiding?

I cannot be                 seen,              heard,                         felt.

My page, however, remains

electronically

for your information.

Powered, perhaps, by the wind farm I saw on my walk today,

Miles off shore,          white against dense light gray.         Almost invisible. Mostly unnoticed.

Her face still sits as it did two years ago,

next to her name,

written largely and proud as if she is announcing herself

like the rest of us.

Only the page is now filled with ‘I miss you’s’

and has become the only gateway

for us to her

As if it has out-lived her

As the wind farm will out-live us

and keep our pages of pictures and perceptions there, for all to see,

regardless

of our fleshy bodies

and regardless of our distorted realities. 

(oneshotwednesday)