Should this end, what would be left?
A fragile shell, I once believed.
Or something more?
A well sunk deep beneath my feet,
Buried like a tomb less grave.
If I choose to dig, to claw a way up,
Would an empty sky reside
Where thunder should be?
Or will the storm rage
With rain and fire freeing up
The feelings wound up in the clouds.
Should I let them howl and
Knock me down when I believe
My control is strong?
Or is letting them breathe,
Letting this go.
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