The Spirit and the storm.

Spirit.

You move. You breathe. You wait.
You are polite. You don’t interrupt.
You wait to be invited in.

Your whisper is there for me if only I would listen.
If only I would pay attention.
Quiet the noise.

Your voice is gentle.
Your tone is soft and warm.
Your words are life.

You should be first but often you’re last in line.
The list of things that come before you is never-ending.
It’s only when I come to my end that I move you up.
Desperation causes a shuffling.
A reordering of the “important.”
A recognition of the misordered.
The disorder.

The need.

Spirit, you are everything.
You’re the only reason for hope.
You’re the comforter.
You listen.
You cry with me.
You quietly pray.

You weather the storm.
And when the storm passes, you are the sun.
Your rays make everything glisten.
You dry my tears.
You warm my heart.

You draw me out anew to try life again.

You say “the pain will come again, but I’m with you.”