Your mouth forms a snarl
and when you bite at your words I can taste your conviction.
You live blindly,
a floating leaf in the wind
or the stream,
wherever suits your need of the moment.
I won't be the log in your river,
bumping your boat while you pass through,
and I won't be the tower breaking through your cloud.
I'll be the lighthouse
shining through the storm you created,
strong and still.
You can growl your argument
through broken teeth,
but my rocks won't be to blame.