The History of the Fire in the Sun

When day is done, the wind's howling calms, and the sun sets, I will be here.

I will not be silenced by the complexity of understanding something that doesn't want to be understood.

I will not stop marching toward my hopes of tomorrow when people are screaming to turn around.

I will not stop breathing in the air of the lilacs and daisies when bees land upon their petals.

Life can sting, but not forever.

I will not stop staring at sunflowers just because they are not viewed as pretty as the rose.

I will not stop listening for the birds who sing to tell their stories of their flights.

I will not stop feeling the grass that grows so sharply emerald from the ground.

I will not stop being here. I will not fade away. I will resist all manifestations of fear, elegance, and poise. I will be open. I will not back down.

I am not the salt of the earth. I am not grown like a flower from the ground.

I am not the wind. I am not the rain. I am not the fire. I am not the flood. I am not the storm. I am not the crackle of thunder. I am not the strike of lightning.

But I am here.

I am a part of this earth.

And when day begins, the wind howls, and the sunrises, I will be here.