Soaring Colors

Colorful birds

Whose voices were stolen

Choking now on the cries

Of indignant lies

Waiting for their binds to be broken.

//

So radiant

With talons of steel

Under relentless attack

But they fight back

While struggling to learn to heal.

//

A never ending cycle

Of flying through the intensity of the storm

Settling in the eye and it's calm

Only to be pulled from your security and comfort—

Getting thrown around until you're over-worn.

//

I am one of these colorful birds…though sometimes I don't feel very colorful at all…

Battered and bruised by the retreating chaos

My wings are useless, so I'm learning to crawl

In spite of what I have lost.

//

Then out of nowhere, the breakthrough happens:

I’m growing, I’m soaring—riding the current

Between joining the tempestuous turbulence

And re-learning the meditative, soothing forgiveness of a cool breeze

The same breeze that settles in after the storm

And lingers in the eerie silence before the next.

//

Always waiting

To again be struck by lightning

Barreled through vicious gusts of wind

Pummeled by torrents

And icy sleet.

//

Always expecting.

Never prepared.

But I (we) always get back on my (our) feet.