week twenty-six

almost swept away 
by the brisk wind coming in off the lake
and its words whispered to me 
from behind.
my soul is tossed 
this way and that 
by the power of its wisdom. 
i am cognitive and cornered 
drawn out and enticed by my own desires
STOP
i try to scream back 
but my screams cannot be heard 
over the roar of the wind
and its backlash of memories. 
i am left wounded...
but there 
through the mists of the early morning rain 
i see a hand reaching out for me 
and know
that after i take that first step toward it
it will grasp hold of me 
and help me get to safety.