It feels like a terrible storm

and I am held up in a rickety shack.

Shutters are flapping violently.

I am getting wet,..and cold,.. so cold.

Horrible threatening sounds of thunder pound at my chest.

Bolts of lightning, like daggers flung into my eyes,..

meant to jest.

Ghosts from childhood keep a constant vigil

for this wavering soul they have clung to relentlessly,...

to this form, now changing.

I see their faces one by one.

I remember the gruelling parts they have played,..

in my life.

I have not made peace with them,..yet.

I can not let them go,.. just yet.

They are deserving of these final days of Darkness.

In truth, they made me strong...

In truth, I picked them.

Now, once again, I remember who I am...

I sit strait and calm transcending the chaos.

My Spirit Father, lovingly reminds me,

'our house' is the mansion,

just a short walk through the valley

and up the hill.