the way in the wind

quiet now except
for the wind
except for the smoke
and my hand held
fire in the whole
earth can't think
of doing anything else
at this point
putting pen to page
is surely passion
but more like a responsibility
too for the future
what if every hundred years
or so they reset everything
how would we know
quiet for now except for
the man made waterfall
and the thoughts that race all day
all night awake
and asleep at the wheel
and still finding the way
in the wind
and the sounds of the night
except for my smoke
and my passion burning
like fire through these pages..