The Storm.

 

A lonely sail, flashing purple;
In the middle of raging stormy seas.
Thunder booming, roars in anger;
Bringing her down to her knees.

Winds bellowing and wailing;
With sorrow howling in each blast,
as loud as a thousand wolves;
Creaking and bending the mast.

Drenched in rain and tears,
She tries to stand on her feet.
Amidst the sharp salty smell of air,
She refuses to accept defeat.

Dagger of lightning splits the sky,
followed by thunder, rumbling inside her.
Despair fled, anxiety ceased;
Filled with fury, She arises from cower.

Standing strong, she continues forward,
dousing her sails with shaky fingertips.
Looking at the hurricane, she opens her mouth;
Escaping sparks from her cold blue lips:

“I am the storm.”

 

V.A.C.W.
20:48

 


This is how I imagine you facing a storm.
A storm in the sea of life.
The storm brought you to your knees, but you got up.
Standing firmly on your own boat, being tenaciously strong.
As strong as the storm itself.

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