Several years ago a friend pointed me to this poem ~ at the time, it reminded her of me. I no longer 'ride the storm', as my storm riding has ended with a beautiful and wonderful husband. This is to those of you who can appreciate the storm and all it's beauty.
She rides the storm as she's always done,
amongst the fury, becoming as one.
The passion is evident if you look in her eyes
as is the courage to keep riding, no matter the size.
A true tornado in plain human form
on the outside a wild and volatile storm.
On the inside, in the eye, where the winds die down,
you'll see just a woman, who's standing her ground.
Is this fury formed of sorrow and pain?
Was she hurt once for another's gain?
Or is the fury part of her wild heart
The innocent, free, and untameable part?
As the storm moves out across the land
it can only be calmed by her gentle hand.
For under the hard shell & front that's so ruff
is a woman that maybe isn't so tuff?
And maybe someday she'll trade in the storm,
for arms that will hold her and keep her warm.
Or soft words whispered on a gentle wind,
Giving her a reason for her storm riding to end.
But until then...she rides the storm.