The Angels Were Generous

Blind Within the Wind

The tumult underneath, it seems, is not for all to see.
It’s left to me to be the one to anchor all the rest.
They think so wrongly that I’m strong and loving of my quest.

I am as a wicked hurricane, that whirlwind of despair,
The chaos, doubts and fears; for my soul they reach & tear.
The turmoil it creates is loathsome at its best.
My faith, it says, can be replaced and I’m afraid to test.

I am more the whirling twister tearing up the earth.
For within this chaos of the wind, there is no fearsome dearth.
There is the eye within its midst, that core of simple faith.
And it is this core that keeps me here, anchored to my fate.

Those are born who know from birth why they are called upon
To survive this world, contribute much and then to just go on.
My fate, it seems is not to be whatever that I could.
It is, rather, to be told in bits, whenever Fate she would.

I am destined to remain within those whirling winds,
To blindly try and find my way and map my roads its bends.
To see beyond the turmoil is a quest not undertaken.
To have that simple faith of mine is all that is not shaken.