Tempest

It is a lonely wind that drives through my life.
The storm has long since abated,
but the gusts remain.

They swirl and gyrate around me,
enveloping my world.

No one sees, or feels this wind apart from me.
It is my personal vortex.

This wind blows hot or cold —
sometimes warming,
sometimes freezing my bones to the marrow.

It is a maelstrom of memories
that rattle through the corridors of my mind,
finding the weak spots,
stealing into the unguarded moments.

Always needing attention.
Constant supervision.
To ensure no major damage occurs again.

Fences get broken — and are repaired.

My storm never leaves me.
She never will.

I find both pain and comfort in the tempest.