SheStorm
She stands rooted in the eye of the storm.
Life flies around her in its fierce form.
Upraised arms beseeching, wide
asking, asking, is this Alive?
Tis quiet now for just awhile,
The air in there is soft, docile.
She knows it's coming:a dervish born
to lift her aloft, to lift her airborne.
Perhaps to fling her far and wide
to force her flight-wings open-glide.
Will she be strong, can she abide?
Or, should she stay there Still inside?
T'would be easier, witness the gale
than to venture, only to fail.
...And
so it comes, forces high.
It tears her up, and up she flies..
her wings they sprout and ossify
stronger, stronger opened wide.
Her heart does bloom and fiercely bleeds
the breathing soul she sorely needs.
She becomes the dervish born
and takes the storm...
and takes the storm…
and takes the storm…
and…
Becomes
The
Storm.
By CeeCee
© 2008 CeeCee
(All rights reserved)
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