Undertow

There are waves that pass through me that cause physical pain in remembering.

All that has grown inside of me, nurtured by my surroundings, have taken root.

Entwined around my ribs. Digging to grow out of their cage.

Seasons in my mind tend to the memories. Deciding whether they wither or bloom.

Shrouded at times, broken only by the rarest rays which lift the spirit to the sky.

Chaos brings a calm. A chaos endured for preservation and safeguarding of a future.

Then the silence.

Where, together, we sit and muse over what has grown out of the dirt.

Where, alone, I listen deeply to the core. To the hum and the creeks. To the determination and purpose. To the strength in rising from the rubble, towards the light.

To the determination of life in the zenith of intent purpose.

There is a storm that brews within, in which I may drown.

And the lightning that bolts me to reality, warming already fiery neurones.

And sometimes the dark helps the light. To be soft. To be forgiving with the truths that she bears.

To transport the knowledge and patience and strength and might, to allow the chips to fall where they may.

Because, where my feelings matter only to me. My actions matter to the world.