A storm is coming, across the plains,
Rolling and rumbling, angry and dark,
Inevitable, and ever-hungry.
Consuming and devouring all that lies before it,
Taking into darkness all that seems light.
Prelude of fear, foreshadowing terror.
Heart in turmoil, the soul recoils,
Too tired to run, too strong to hide.
Time now to stand and face the torrent;
To overcome or fail and perish.
The front is near, the time is come
To stand before the violent gale.
Winds whip and howl and tear away clothes,
Stripping away the civilized fašade,
Baring humanity to the elemental onslaught.
The storm intensifies, blowing sand begins to sting,
Biting and tearing, ravaging the flesh,
Eroding the bone beneath, wearing it down
Until nothing remains, only emptiness.
The storm still rages, but there's no more pain.
In the eyes of the storm, peace is found.
Regret for what was lost now awe for what may be,
Majesty and power in a vortex of mystery.
Hands that once held the past now reach for the future,
Fear overcome by hope, and longing for rebirth.
As the onslaught begins anew,
Forces once destructive now channel creation,
Power and energy embraced;
That which was taken restored and reshaped
Around the shape of the soul, not the form of the parts.
When the tempest has passed, a new life emerges.
Where once stood a man, a lion remains.
All pretense wiped clean, a true form now stands.
From troubled times and fear of change
Comes strength, majesty, and the freedom of self.