Saturday, May 14, 2005

I Think I’ll Take a Walk~ IV

May 14, 2005

Here comes the rain,

my azure sky obscured
by darker gray
than the mist which keeps you
hidden from my eyes.

My son’s pinwheel
spins furiously in winds
as merciless as reality
that blows about me,
cools the heat
and with it, the passion,
the fury with which
I pursue elusive pieces
of myself.

I’ve written before
of howling winds,
howling souls
longing for reprieve.
Yet now I hear the howl;
the sound of wind when it finds
nothing against which
fury might be broken.

What is it to you
if I sit inside my door
to avoid the buffeting?
Sometimes the wind is too angry,
the rain too cold,
the fire too furious
for one of my measure
to withstand alone.

I crack the door;
it seems the gust has relented.
Concrete soaks up the rain;
unwitting, it participates
in its own destruction.

And the angry gust bellows again;
sends papers flying,
icons plummeting.
Rain soaks the floor
and my feet...

So the only sure way
to avoid the storm
is to stay inside and drink tea.


The water’s on...

I hear it protest the manmade heat
which agitates, excites, teases
to a certain and long discussed boil.


It is no safer here
in my warm, dry haven
than it is on my storm-torn porch.
There is no safety for one
whose own dark mind-corners
are her greatest enemy.

"Harsh falls the rain,
rough blows the wind..."
thunder tests the mettle of my will,
and yet,

I think I’ll take a walk.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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