The eye of the storm,
I stand, motionless.
The rain stings my skin,
But I do not cringe.
The wind chills me,
But I do not shiver.
A rough statue,
Carved from a flawed rock
By unskilled hands,
I stand still.
A monument to all that is me.
Never flinching,
Because with the tiniest movement,
I would disappear.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC