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.