Wind,
sweep me off my feet and take me where I need to be
because I no longer know.
Rain,
pour down on me in a deluge, a flood
wash away my grief,
let my tears mix with your raindrops on my cheeks
so neither of us can tell the difference
between heartbreak, and nature.
Fire,
light a small spark in my soul again,
a smoldering ember among the ashes of what I used to be,
to give me a passion
a purpose
for anything.
and Earth,
where have you gone?
I used to feel you beneath my feet,
but now I’m sure I’m falling.
Ground, come up to meet me and catch me.
After all, it’s not the fall itself that kills you in the end, is it?
stormsinteacups 
Beautiful despite the sadness.
I think in the end, all that any one can ever do is try to follow their heart, and try to do its bidding as best they can, which is not always so obvious or easy under the sometimes intense pressures of family expectations and obstructions.
In my view it is denying or neglecting one’s essential truth that kills people before their time, literally and metaphorically.
It seems to me Storms, that much of your passion and purpose could be about being a writer, because you can obviously do it so very well?
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Thank you. I’d very much like to be a writer and have work published, but alas it feels like a bit of a pipe dream at the minute. But I appreciate your support 🙂
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Storms! Hold on tight to your dream!
You may be down, but you are not out.
Writing is obviously your thing.
It doesn’t go away on the days that you don’t do it.
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