Superpowers of the Shattered
Oh no, you don’t.
You’ve had your run.
Like a small scale Moses, I plant my staff.
The tide changes here.
I will push aside the water
by sheer will,
or perhaps, more accurately,
I’ve been there,
my soul’s last breath bubbling faintly
in the whirlpool.
No one knows how close I came
to surrender. Or how often.
But that was then.
This broken version of myself is stronger
than the origional.
More stubborn, possessed
of a power only the shattered possess.
So rise tide, rise.
I will ride the water until I can breathe no more,
and plant my staff in the shore
and show you what real power is,
the power to push back the waters,
the power to make peace
where there is none.
About this poem
The picture was taken at the Hollins Chapel in Roanoke, Va. I have a weakness for empty churches. I often find more peace in empty ones than full ones.