The past is a vast time storm,
lightening strikes dogging my way,
chaotic winds impeding progress,
and rain tears lashing my face.
I fled instead of standing still,
running to a future cast drear
where fog coated my vision
and mist shrouded all dangers.
It’s taken time spent forsaken
to understand the shelter I sought
wasn’t waiting up ahead,
but surrounded me waiting to be caught.
In the present, time stands still,
a shelter where you need not hide,
valley or mountain summit
the view is clear when you can see inside.
©June 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne