Whirling always seems forever.
In the storm,
Pelted and soaked and battered,
It always feels like the storm will never end.
No matter how many storms I ride to the end,
No matter how long I wait,
The storm always reaches past the limit of my patience
The one of the present,
This is the one,
The unending storm.
When I fight the storm
I end up stronger than I was.
When I surrender to the wind and rain
I end up damaged.
If I’m stronger I push ahead
And move forward.
If I’m damaged I try frantically to just get back to zero
Before the next one.
There is always another storm,
But, there is always an ending as well.
Whirling never lasts forever.