Perhaps the storms are simply meant to rouse our inner empowerment,
faraway rumbles culminating into the now, waking from hibernation the reminder of the how,
for fate is passive sitting ducks, and destiny the arms in the winds resurrecting the self up,
believing in the achieving part of dreams, rousing the soul to with that single bird, despite the conditions,
I dance in the rain, and the bird wishes it were me; we chat about exchanging wings and feet but decide each are intentionally meant to propel, and here we are together celebrating freedom from cage and cell.
To survive is to fight, to split open, to cry, to persevere into the next season of a dream’s life, to detach from the root, the branch, before hope dies, to fall or fly not knowing the outcome until free, that air before the landing or opening of wings…
May I never lose my way to getting lost, may I never resist the urge to leave it all, may I never shelter my face from the storm, may I never let my arms fall in the downpour, may I never fully wash off the grit of the sand, and may I never be restrained by clock or human hand.
May I never negotiate with my soul: may I never let anyone close the window.
Illusion of control, I never really drove, not on a road trip of my own; I rode round and round, hair in the breeze, holding on to the mane of carousel dreams, never free. Now I am. But the invisible reins of pleasing so long keeps me stalled in the corral; my voice on auto-pilot agreeing with everyone else. A passenger yet. I sit quietly still looking out the windows. But in the rearview mirrors, I frame my favorite parts, and up ahead in the near distance, I see the peaks of my heart’s desires. I think I am ready to take the wheel while listening to nature on God’s behalf appeal to my soul, that home, I’ve carried all along. I only needed to use my voice to steer to where I belong. I will need to put it in park for the final leg, so I can ride bareback on my stallion away from all of them…