In the Storm I stand, on shifting sand,
While heaven's light steadily loses the battle
with the tempest raging, surrounding, resounding,
uncaging from its binds.
Chaos whips my skin from all directions
in the form of dejection, disappointment,
rejections and pain. It finds
a crack in the armor that's formed,
so diminutive as to exist in abstract.
This is what the demeanor attracts, that appears not affected
by the day after day after day of challenge,
of push, of stress, of blame, of lies intended to shame.
Those outside behind a wall, stare in awe, unaware of the flaw,
as emotion seeps through the fissure forming,
yet I stand non-conforming to the buffets of fear, of doubt, of strain.
The pain acts as mortar to fill the gap, and strengthen that
which is holding me firm
In the storm I stand, no shield, no spear, for the battle is not waged
against the winds and debris and lightening and rain.
I don't hold the storm in disdain. It is my companion, my shaper, my whetstone.
I welcome its coming, for knowing nothing else I let it surround me, go through me,
I lean in when I must, bending forward with each gust,
holding ground that is at once mine and not. What I've got
is the knowledge that the Storm will not last. It hasn't before, not in any past.
It simply rages until its energy is spent.
This event is my life, and I'm honed and strengthened,
ready to offer to any who would love and trust,
this simple fact that I must be the one who,
on the shifting sand,
in the Storm I stand.
It is Life.
It is Destiny.
It is Me.
cd - 102716 10:34 p.m