The raw power of an arctic wind doesn’t always come from the north
sometimes a wind comes roaring through our souls, tearing us
shredding, but the desolation cannot speak, if we refuse to listen
we are more than a scrawny sapling hiding in the rocks
our strength is not an umbrella breaking, not a clenched fist
pointing upwards, we are stronger than our roots, a soul
refusing to bend, so let us tie our ropes to the sun
placing our poetry in the temple
and keep on singing
we know who we are.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”