I constantly struggle against the gusts.
Penetrating pellets pummel my sight.
My broken body, blighted and alone.
My hermetic heart, hating the storm.
A call to the Lord - my will against dying.
Hands raised - a hope survived.
God’s grace guides me through.
My hardened heart, humbled and unfettered.
Envisioned and enlivened, I embrace what future comes.
I fight no more against the gusts.