The north wind blew me here,
Leaving me stranded in the tempest of my mind.
Whispered breezily of "experience."
An elder apparition in a red shawl once warned me away from her home,
Now she guards the the bridge so I cannot leave.
Her hair falls in long braids,
And her face is marked with wisdom.
"Experience." She seems to say with her gaze.
The tempest rages on.
I have made the wolves my friends,
But they are not tame.
Sometimes I feel as savage.
Sometimes I feel nothing at all.
Sometimes I feel the harsh hand of experience.
I watch the village burn away in my mind.
I close my hands around the burning embers.
The bridge has sunk.
The woman in red becomes the red earth,
And I become the north wind,
Rushing and wisping away,
Until I realize.
I am the tempest.
And I can't escape experience.