The Eye of the Storm
It has been a while since this feeling in my chest has come.
The shortness of breath, the cyclone of thoughts spinning too fast to hold on to a single one.
The rapid sound of my heart beat echoing in my head; some days, I wonder if it will just give out, sick of its ever quickening tempo.
I don't know why I come out here to the fringes of the storm, I suppose that's where all this backsliding gets me.
They say the calmest point of a hurricane is the eye of the storm, I know that is where you reside here in this corrupted plane.
I must fight through the crushing weight of guilt and the constant push back of my own pride as though they are high powered winds, so that I may find you once more.
I beg, help me to praise you through these storms; songs of your salvation drowning out the roaring winds of fear that surround me.
Yet I still seem to collapse with you just out of reach .
That is when I cry to you with the last bit of breath left in my lungs.
There is but a single terrifying moment that I lay there, dying.
Then I feel your hands, gentle, strong, and kind.
They lift me from the ground that was moments ago my grave and hold me close.
Your arms have forever been the only place I ever feel I truly belong.
So please keep me here with you, here where it's all so clear.
And when I inevitably leave once again, help me to carve you into my soul so that I may not stray