Storms And Desire Poem by Diem Enjee

I am standing under storms
filled with warped, yet wonted, forms,
and in my troubled state, I see
the man that I would dare to be.

But in my haste to take this form,
I delve too deep within a storm,
and find myself in toxic places,
too distant from my past embraces.

Warmth is seeping from my bones
to the cold and lifeless stones
that lie beneath my tired feet,
yet I shall not accept defeat.

Although my body may be weary,
and my setting doth look dreary,
I am ready for my travels,
hoping that the doubts unravel.

Desperate bounds and leaps of faith
Lead me to the distant wraith,
which stops, and turns, and seems so peaceful;
Daunting, yes, but not deceitful.

I reach forward with one hand,
so that I may become this man,
but I'm halted by some magic.
Between us stands a wall, so tragic.

I curse and bash and strike the wall.
I taunt it, howl, cry, and call.
But, alas, to no avail.
I sit and do naught but bewail.

The storms are passing overhead;
I wonder if, before I'm dead,
I will see those bright blue skies
through those new, desired eyes.

I sit under a fading storm,
adjacent to my wanted form,
and in my troubled state, I ask
if you will help complete my task.