Eye of the Storm

Sitting patiently within a tangible stillness

An unfamiliar calm infuses the surrounding wilderness

A lone feather skirts the edge of the storm

While oxygen is rationed and lungs do mourn

 

Holding the silence in the palm of my hand

A vibrant picture slips through fingers, like sand

Grains of the living, drowning in spiritual drought 

Flooded by cries of those falsely devout

 

Surrounded by this guarded house of mirrors

Nowhere to hide or to bury to my fears

Remaining in the symbolic eye of the storm

Clouds beckon the tribe to bow and conform

 

Feeling the chaos land precisely on my skin

My feet remain firm, as the rest of the world spins

This sacred stillness is an enduring home

And I have no desire to blindly roam