I wrote this poem for my ninth-grade Creative Writing class, mostly on a whim. I had a feeling stuck in my head of the movement of a gust of wind, or a tornado even, of a cyclical movement that feels suffocating and never-ending. I felt that this portrayed what I was imagining fairly well.
Will
Flying, Soaring,
Through the wind.
Up drafts, down,
Round and round.
No wings to guide,
No path to follow.
All alone,
At the mercy,
Of the wind.
Falling, Flipping,
In the air.
Scary round,
Round and round.
Don’t know up,
Don’t know down.
All alone,
At the mercy,
Of gravity.
Crashing, Drowning,
In the water.
Over, under,
Round and round.
Hard to see,
Hard to breathe.
All alone
At the mercy,
Of the waves.
Creeping, Pushing,
Letting go.
Prayers tumble,
Round and round.
I am sinking.
I am dying.
All alone,
At the mercy,
Of the deep.
Crawling, Climbing,
I won’t give up.
I choose to live.
Life falls into focus.
I walk onto the sand,
I feel the sun’s rays.
All alone,
At the mercy,
Of my will.
A while later, I worked on this revision version of the original poem, playing with the formatting and the flow of the words to try to better capture the swirling movement I had imagined. I’ve remained pretty proud of this poem ever since.
Will (Revision)
Flying, Soaring,
Through the gust.
Up drafts, down,
round and round.
No wings to guide,
No path to follow.
All alone,
At the mercy
of the wind.
Falling, Flipping,
In the air.
Tossed around,
round and round.
Don’t know up,
Don’t know down.
All alone,
At the mercy
of the earth.
Crashing, Drowning,
In the water.
To and fro,
round and round.
Hard to see,
Hard to breathe.
All alone,
At the mercy
of the waves.
Creeping, Pulling,
Through the dark.
Prayers tumble,
round and round.
I am sinking,
I am dying.
All alone,
At the mercy
of the deep.
Crawling, Climbing,
To new life.
Focused now,
Won’t be caught.
Walk onto the sand,
Walk into the light.
All alone,
At the mercy
of my will.
Shoshana Weaver 