The Tempest
A tempest brews,
Dark clouds twisting,
Whispers of thunder crack
Through my sprawling sky.
Raindrops fall,
Cold and sharp,
Each thought a droplet,
A weight,
A burden.
Winds howl,
Raging through ,
The heart of the tempest,
The storm inside,
Unannounced, uninvited.
But in the chaos,
A flicker,
A break in the clouds
A tiny, fragile light
Fighting its way through.
I hold onto that spark,
Like a tree gripping roots,
Pushing against the gusts,
Bending,
But not breaking.
I fight the tempest that lives inside,
clutching at calm, taming the tide.
With each thunderous flash, I rise
rebuilding myself with quiet sighs.
@ZenArashi
A very evocative poem, complimented so well with your artwork. It really captures the essence of inner turmoil and struggle. I appreciated the use of the hurricane-like images to carry the theme. It gave a strong impression of the sense of inevitability and relentless nature of the internal struggle. I think it conveyed a sense of an impersonal force arrayed against oneself, which such strong emotional upheaval can feel like....as if we are not in control but rather victims of feelings that overwhelm us as they fall upon us full force "Unannounced, uninvited".
The glimmer of hope in the form of the imagery of light breaking the clouds is a momentary respite in the maelstrom. Then the following metaphor of the tree holding on by the roots "Bending, but not breaking" is one that reinforces again the idea that the elements of this inner storm are somehow beyond our control, and must be weathered and endured rather than mastered.
The last stanza I feel is so nicely nuanced. On the surface it seems to contradict the idea of the storm being in control; That resistance is possible. That perseverance leads to dominion over such raging emotions. Yet is that really what the narrator is telling us? "I fight the tempest that lives inside, Clutching at calm, taming the tide"; this is not some squall that comes and goes but rather a perpetual storm that ebbs and flows. Not mastered, but rather survived. The last two lines seem to cement this even further, as they admit to being knocked down but doggedly getting back up again. Though they may bend with the ferocious wind they are not unscathed, as each time they must begin "rebuilding myself with quiet sighs".
That last line is so sad. It makes one feel the weight of such perseverance, and echoes the sense of suffering silently. The whole poem has such a good flow, and is seems to grow with intensity from the rumbling beginning until we stand head on against the onslaught before finally settling into the unquiet aftermath. The storm passing by once more.
A great poem.
@BastionKnight
That poem was written when I was struggling with my trauma of CPTSD. Yes, the struggle ebbs and flows and it has been painstakingly dealt by not choosing to fall into the abyss of darkness. Thank you for exploring the heart of my ongoing struggle in stanzas of setbacks and triumphs. It’s both enlightening and heartbreaking that someone can feel that in my writing. Thank you so much for responding, Knight.
