I am a statue made of wind; ivory exterior yet a storm within.
I wonder why, when He chiseled me so, why he made such calm up front and such havoc below.
I hear so many whispers from the zephyr inside,
I see the pictures that they make in my mind.
I want to give them life, heave breath into those fluttering lungs.
I am a statue made of wind; ivory exterior yet a storm within.

I pretend my soul is still, that there is no natural disaster wrecking havoc in my core.
I feel like I live inside my tornado,  I feel like I thrive inside the gale.
I touch those winds I see and ponder I what they say.
I worry that they shall fade away and my hurricane shall deflate.
I cry when I realize they are but thought, fleeting fancies that fall through my fingers.
I am statue made of wind; ivory exterior yet a storm within.

I understand that I must leave them behind, if I wish to thrive.
I say that I cant do without with my storm, that I couldn’t survive.
I dream about these breeze blows, intertwine myself in and out these translucent whirlwinds.
I try to keep them controlled, but they seem to control me.
I hope that they stay, that they eat and consume me as my days count away.
I am a statue made of wind; ivory exterior yet a storm within.