Written by Timothy Horne
I push and pull, then push again
The back-and-forth
Against the self, the one that fights
To hide, to withdraw into itself
Self-inflicted solitude and suffering
The world, the world of storms raging, buffeting
It’s soul inclement, unwelcoming, a poisoned spring of struggle
Your peace a peace not forged in secreting away
But in facing the fiercity
And finding there your refuge
As the wind bites
And the waves crash thunderous
You are found, arms outstretched
An invitation
Calling me out of myself
And into the fellowship of your suffering
Text © Timothy Horne
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