As I wandered, lost in the raging tempest. Amid the swirling sea, not knowing were to go or how to do it less, obviously.
But I had not long to fear for soon came a gentle breeze amid the swirling storm. It did not push or pull but only hinted at the end of the storm.
Though I hesitated at first not sure what to do I soon found it wise to let the breeze guide me. It did not make things easer it only showed me the way as if maybe it know what I was going through or maybe it was only fulfilling it’s purpose, but it lead me through and now I can see the clear horizon.
But now I here you want to take the breeze away controlling the weather in some mysterious way.
Do you have the right, can you hear the song echoing do you know were it comes from?
I do as I have seen the light so I will tell you.
It comes from the moaning voices of the living dead rising from the grave; they did not make it through the storm so this is there fate!
It comes from the last sour note uttered by the snakes and lizards played by a band, of dead and moaning voice singing of sadness and dread.
It comes from those who through some fluke of nature can only express theme selves in a picture. Or from those who can only express theme selves on a field.
Or perhaps you are the source of the sound never escaping the storm trapped forever.
But let me tell you why you are wrong. You cannot control the wind you think you can but in the end you only suppress it and do you know what that does to a storm? I’ll tell it makes it bigger and soon to lash out with infinity scorn.
It will destroy you, and you will see in the end an all-consuming storm with fire and lightning breathing dragon’s overhead!
And then the storm will clear and all will see the white and blue horizon and you will know why you were wrong, obviously.