Through the whistling winds,
they target and flow,
like a river without a bank,
to contain their woe.

From the sound that shakes the trees,
and makes them shiver beside the sea,
from the wind that lifts them high,
from the ground to the sky. These leaves that are shaven off, by the forceful winds,
that contain a wrath.

The shiver of trees is a symphony,
of something so invisible,
  but something so unique.

This may be a song,
but because of its contrast,
its in this poem to try to show its power.

Dust and Gold, two different things, one we price for a diamond ring.
The other, we step on each and every day, dumping ash from a litter tray.

Dust, so Gray and light with little significance in this life. Is ignored by living things, whether it used to be a vampire or some other thing.
It is carried by the wind, but not like a bird who has survival instincts.  Like a butterfly stuck in a web, can't do anything but be dragged until dead. Until one day, its potential is shown, it'll wait until its wings grow.

Gold, an ore so special, so significant and different from any other metal. People wear it and show it off, expensive as it is, only for people who have
                                                           IT.
It could be anything, from  money to talent, from operas and musicals comes the banquet. Actors get rich from all these plays and the banquet is the gold paradise that everyone praise.

Its golden eyes start to sparkle,
like dandelions turned to diamonds,
a wild animal turned to a house loll
sleeping through winters toll.

Of breath it takes, loud and clear
slicing through the silent ear

Lightly tapping on the floor,
for more love for a long time more.

Silky fur caressed my skin,
sitting there hoping for gin or some other sin.

Twist of fate let God create
the world as we know it,
but let the world be our portrait,
something interesting will happen,
I know it.