The Wind

It carries the petals raging against the storm.
They are beyond the command of the soil and the pathway ahead is rapidly tumbling in a mass of pebbles and dirt.
You would think that naivety and immaturity would come to pass with youth, but certainly this is not always the case. You would think that having a spine means it wouldn't be kept collecting dust in the closet.
What happened to direction? Why is that as soon as everything's so independently stable, the slightest of feathers could knock everything to the ground? What gives it the right to have such power? Does it have as much power as it does perhaps, because we give it such? Why is it so hard to resist?
Why do I give you the comfort of familiarity? You don't deserve it. Why do I let you control so much? Why are you the only thing that brings about this disgusting and shameful sense of weakness?
You weren't here the whole time, you don't know me.