and from the storm arisen
spawned of blackened thunder
by haste the calm ensues
despair made chaste,
chased beyond the moon
knows hope Renewed.
~ ~ ~
Cycles
I am perpetual motion,
born a sojourner
finding no tent,
destined to meet my end
wherever I’ve never Been.
~ ~ ~
Hardened
I am stormy weather roughened,
dashed, left beaten on the fjord,
unsurmounted, rendered jagged by the peak
to wit, stripped of mine tattered garb.
though lost not of will and able
yet wonder when the caldron Chills.
Insanity ?
here I am, arrived at this station
for having come this way before
and for feeling no benefit, nor lack of it,
I lean to trod them once again,
them footfalls laid before, and
anew deliberate more certain
each the ones most freshly Taken.