Poem: Power

I rise not from the throne, but from the storm,
Where silence breaks and wild winds form.
My voice, a pulse the mountains feel,
My gaze, a blade no lie can steel.

I do not beg, I do not bow,
The world reshapes beneath my vow.
With hands unshaken, calm and sure,
I hold what others can’t endure.

Power is not the shout or flame,
But knowing when to leave the game.
It’s walking through the fire, whole,
And still protecting heart and soul.

It’s roots that grow in deepest ground,
It’s thunder wrapped in quiet sound.
Not always loud, not always seen—
But always fierce, and always keen.

So call me storm, or call me grace,
I wear the cosmos on my face.
I am the storm, the calm, the tide—
I do not chase. I do not hide.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie