The Storm

 

There must have been a storm

that rained above your house,

the winds made a mess

of your room.

 

Empty and spent,

now all hollowed out,

left cold and dark

like a tomb.

 

Small fragments of who

you once called yourself

are strewn all over 

the floor.

 

And the things that you thought 

you needed the most 

blown out through

the wind-slammed door.

 

 But there must have been a strength

that stood within that storm.

For you are still standing, 

you're here!

 

And nothing can touch you or 

rob you of you.

Not worry, nor guilt,

nor fear. 

The you who remains,

stripped clean by the storm

 from the rough outer shell

of your seed

 

is the beautiful soul

who, once clothed in rags

now, standing here naked

is freed.