Eye of the Storm

by Tom Bajoras

Trial by fire,
and trial by having nothing to show except joy.
I am still too heavy to fly,
so burn away the me and
whatever else holds me down.

I need to learn to wait,
just because I’m not ready,
although sometimes I think I am.
I won’t be ready until the fire
makes me clean, a feather of gold
rising on the tip of the flame
until a wind from heaven
lovingly catches me and lifts me,

a hostage, ransomed,
rising on wings not my own
through the eye of the storm,
into a place calmer than
any earthly calm.