Perspective

There’s something beautiful in the air:

something arcane and rather imperceptible to the naked eye.

No it’s not

the wind,

for it can’t be just the breeze that leaves me yearning so fervently.

No,

it’s something

that exists but it’s not so

tangible, palpable, definite.

It could be that this beauty in the air

is just in my head,

only as real as what my mind invents.

Like the nightmares you can’t direct,

waking up unmoving and afraid to rest;

or going with its unfathomable monstrosity,

for the lull of sleep is only as good as you let it be.

It’s all perspective —

how you choose to apperceive.

So there might be nothing outstandingly beautiful in the air,

for air is just elements and compounds,

though

I’m just glad to be spellbound by it.

No,

it’s not the definition of God,

but it is otherworldly.

So for

another day, or another moment

I bask in its serenity.

And though I may not always be enthralled by the wind,

for it may smother me;

sting my cuts and weepy eyes,

seem a little too crude on my cheeks.

It’s all perspective —

what you choose to believe.

So I’ll stay another day,

outside

(without thoughts),

and alive

(without qualms).

Feeling the gust of this wind

in the hope that there will be more days

that I sense its arcanum and almost sanctity

than not.

For

there is something beautiful in the air.