Stand still,
firm, 
hold fast.
The turmoil bears down,
it’s here,
has it always been?
The winds that swirl a mere tickle,
drawn and quartered a familiar ache,
yet what rages in has no face.
No name but forever pounding,
no shadow for it is not there,
no scent left to linger.
There is no escape,
find the rock,
hold fast.