If one could ask the wind why it blows? (Why I Write...)

If one could ask the wind why it blow what would it say? Would it say its life was made this way? But then again why ask when we know the truth, for when the wind blows it speak to you. That’s its voice call your name, it’s heart begging your attendance not many notice but some will sit and listen. Do we ask why water falls, when it just singing a melody for those to hear even if their nobody there. Do we ask why the earth quakes when it’s the wrecked voice of a body in pain, pleading with some for clarity and bleeding reason? Even thou no one ever listens. Do we ask why fire blazes when we clearly hear it evident rages. But it never truly phases. Can we ask stone why it erodes when its voice is written down on its very own? No we don’t ask because we know that the reason for my writing is my voice my own.