The Storm and the Field

I ran through a field I’d never known,
Chasing a voice, my blood, my own —
A man who came from northern skies
To hand me keys, to watch me rise.
The wind picked up, the heavens turned,
A twister spun through dreams I’d earned.
So I took shelter, barn and beam,
Inside the eye of waking dream.
Strangers there with spirits poured,
Tension rose, but not for war.
Guns were drawn, yet not for death —
Just echoes of unspoken breath.
The storm passed slow, like all things do,
And in that hush, a path felt true.
I asked for help, I named my place,
And saw reflection in her face.
This dream I keep not for retreat —
But for the ground beneath my feet.
For storms that come, and storms that go,
And all the truths the dreaming know.