Lying dormant,
Sitting still.
Doing what I have to,
With lots of time to kill.
How nice it is to be free.
“There is no rush,” I say,
The clouds pass by me,
While I get heavy where I stay.

But the horizon grows turbulent.
The clouds shift to a melancholy gray.
My heart sinks at a sight so violent.
“Is this my Hurricane”

Thinking of the stories I’ve heard, I flee,
Taking whatever I can with me.
I take a moment of rest ,
Believing that I have avoided the raging tempest.

I can feel it talking to me,
“You can’t run forever” it says.
But with everything I’ve ever known threatened.
I run anyway.

An epiphany strikes me like a kick to the stomach,
“Prepare yourself, you can’t lose any more time.”
With a new sense of determination
I make the decision.
Leaving everything behind,
I march against the howling gales.

“What is pushing me forward” I think,
I feel scared, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Is it ignorance? No, that line is clear.

Through, wind, rain and hail I walk,
The journey is treacherous.
But with patience, there it is,
My Hurricane

As I get lifted off the ground
I don’t know what to do.
I close my eyes as I go in spirals.
It keeps getting more and more intense.
Until I open my eyes.

“Is this real?” I ask,
“Am I really above the clouds?”
This is what freedom is.
This is the land from the stories.