Contemplations of a Disturbed Soul

XIV

I feel like my mind is on fire.

I taste dry staleness in my mouth

And hear the gravel scrape my feet.

I feel the cold wind through my ears,

And the fresh sting of water.

With fear rippling through my heart,

I stand to face the storm.

I know my efforts will be futile.

That I rise before the infinite,

And offer the weakest resistance.

I know I won't survive.

And my boldness is brimming with fear.

Yet with my soul exposed to the invincible,

I stand to face the storm.

I feel voices nudge me,

I see curses being hurled.

I look back to those who've shunned me

And pray for redemption.

I try to wipe the blood off my hands.

And cheered on by a volley of hatred,

I stand to face the storm.  

I prepare myself for submission,

I hold up my shield of grass.

I sharpen my sword of air,

And walk on with a torn heart.

I put on my armour of scars on my chest

And on my knees, weeping on the blessed altar,

I stand to face the storm.

And I hear laughter from the crowd.

And I strain to hear my breathing.

I wipe my eyes and brace myself

For the ghastly blow of the storm.

And I place my feet firm on the ground 

And gather my flesh and bones together.

And shout out my cry of resistance.

It drowns out the sounds of the crowd

And I feel water seep me off.

I feel gales and winds rip off my skin.

And rocks grind my bones.

But I don't bow, I don't turn back.

I don't blink when it burns my eyes.

Collecting my broken body and my shattered soul,

I stand to face the storm.  

I rise against the storm.