Alone, just an island,

A rock in the sea.

Unmoved and unchanged,

Or so it would seem.

But each drop of water

Congregated, a sea.

And each breath of air

Will yet pound over thee.

Some days we’ll blow gently,

Rumble in all with ease.

There’ll be times when we’re pounding;

Awesome winds, mighty seas.

There’ll be clarity, comfort,

A predictable season.

And rushing and roaring,

Sense will look like confusion.

When the gaze of your soul

Reaches down and around,

May there be a new shape

A new look to be found.

Still the one once designed,

With the rot washed away.

Unmistakably different,

Undeniably changed.