Born From the Storm

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not broken.
An essence refused,
lost in a maze,
only drifts
further away.

A lifetime spent,
perhaps living,
never becoming.

Acts of wrongdoing
point towards the path.
Only a mirror,
reflecting
what’s destined
to be called the self.

Meanings once given,
retrieve them back.

Life belongs
to no one
but the self,
the chosen one.

Blame, an ease,
comforting refusal,
a day’s piece of cake,
never grants an escape.

The path ahead,
a garden,
fresh roses blooming.
What lies ahead,
deception in the making.

Bleed through thorns.
Scars,
the beauty of one’s soul.
The path indeed is ahead
only for the willing
to sit through the storms.

Nature called you home.
A nature defied
betrayal,
a sin.

Labels lack the essence,
a treachery,
destined to bring forth
an ending,
a fragmented self.

Rebellion,
a secret language,
echoing a design
in sacred secrecy,
written under stars.

Walk unafraid.
Let the rules fall away.
Defy their names,
not your design.

Essence was never the norm.
The truest beings
forged into form.
Comes alive,
born of the roughest storms.

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