Sometimes all we have to do
all there is to do
is to hold on to the ledge,
tightly, until straining veins
at the back of our hands
grow like roots seeking water,
until sore fingers silently pray
under the weight of our predicament
as we wait for the storm

and when it starts, some days
it can be as bearable
as accidentally slamming the door
on a finger, heart pounding wildly,
calling out in suffocation,
deep within the confines of soft tissues

other days, it seems to take a deep breath
pulling back heavily on the whip
before striking with barbed malice,
trying to pry open
the hinges holding our inner beings.

At one point, the winds of time
will slowly blow the dark clouds south
bringing oxygen, nutrients and hope
and we can let go of that ledge
turn around with a fortified soul
and step into the sunshine.