M

In the wind there is a chair,
and I sit down to repair my aches,
a break from the urge of the world,
I relax in an instant of sanity.
 
In the wind there is a chair,
that hugs in ergonomic smoothness,
while dreams cradle,
and the soul whispers free and calm.
 
I give myself to the waiting patient,
aware of every breath,
while I walk towards death.
 
A piano song,
a caress of peace,
calm mind,
and serene breathing.
 
In the wind there is a chair,
where I restore at will,
the sadness of my steps.