Permanent Migration

It's storming again, I can see it.
Inside, beneath your humor, your pride-
rage and despair saturate the air.

Cracked surfaces on your facade
show it clear as day-
darkness has settled in,
here to stay.

You can embrace it like you have,
familiar with this bad,
accustomed to this lack-
but in the end, even as it passes,
it will be back.

But what if, like the geese, it flew
away for a season-
leaving you
anew.
While away, you harvest the balm
that puts out the burn and
bask in love,
unspurned.
It'll return to find you clear,
and a little bit better
with each year.

Today can be a season,
today can be a year-
just find a reason,
don't end it here.