The Restless Song (Poetry)

The wind that wails around this ugly building
buffets raw too-modern red brick walls
lisps its way through any crack or cranny
tells tales to me for half the sleepless night.

It’s loutish-rough — it shouts and sneers and mutters
coarse in tone — abusive — spitting rain
it drops a slate, tosses broken branches
threatens, whispers snide in foreign tongues.

I hear its tuneless tune — its screech and whistle
I cannot shut it out, its voice is plain
interpreted at some unconscious level
repeating what I know — I must move on.

This isn’t home — it says — I shouldn’t settle
insistent with its weird and restless song
penetrating even in the silence
the voice that mocks — reminds — I don’t belong.