The eye of my storm is quiet,
Though it lacks a moment of peace.
Fragmented words spin erratically,
Chasing me like whirring winds.
This storm gyrates far from the people I love.
Their lives continue in steady march,
But mine has stuttered to a halt.
A pillar has crumbled in my life,
The support buried in piles of ash and grief.
My house of cards has fallen,
A structure of the heart, decayed and broken.
The rot seeps in, stealing tears to grow its hatred.
But no, this house hasn't collapsed. Not yet.
A pillar has crumbled, yes, but my roof still stands.
Like a desolate house blew over by the wind,
Weak and wrecked, but still repairable,
This land will grow anew,
While forever harboring that piece of barren ground.