Petals on the Wind (a poem for hopeful hearts)

Wind pushes heavily against window panes
as rain pounds on the roof and
trees wrestle each other to the ground
outside the safety of my four-walled home.

This midnight pounding of my heart makes me glad
I don't have to bear it alone
but fearful I might be preemptive to tell you
how glad I am you called.

There is no Oz,
no faraway land into which I will be tossed
but childish fears cling to the darkness
in milliseconds of flickering electricity.
I wonder if I might cry if the lights go out
and have to explain what you can't see.

In the midst of the worst,
I can only remind myself the harder the rain
the more chance of bluer skies in the morning.
The better chance I'll have to sleep
because nothing can keep up forever.
No storm can beat down both heart and soul.

Like sharp bolts of lightning
you seem to shatter the silence of my day
in ways I didn't realize needed to be broken.

In these days, it is almost too early to speak
and yet
it seems you hear me in my thoughts.
I wade through prepositions, conjunctions and
adjectives I feel would be the least intimidating
trying to find the perfect expression when suddenly
my mouth opens and it all comes out wrong.

This is my nature.
I am not a gentle breeze.
I am not a perfectly opened flower.
But I am a twisted oak.

I was here long before your arrival,
standing strong through older storms.
I bend, I bow, but I do not break.

I cannot be easily uprooted,
but if given the chance,
I would stretch my arms to encircle you
if only you'd climb my branches.

Is it too soon to ask?
Asking you nothing more than to take shelter,
fall asleep without a word.
I do not require anything more of you than what you give.
I have weathered many storms.
I will bend, but not break beneath your weight.
I will protect you as much as you protect me.
I will grow in your presence, offer shade and peace
but I will never filter out the sun.

Though I cannot prove it,
I am already growing in your presence.
is it too soon to ask?
Just pause a while and I promise you'll see a difference.
I did not get here overnight.
I will not take you there tomorrow.
But as the sun sets and the moon begins to rise,
I will be here.
Steady.

I might not be the most beautiful flora,
but the rings inside me tell stories
of a thousand different years.
Is it too soon to ask you to climb with me?
To risk the thought of falling
and see the world from my own view?
I can only promise as much safety as you're willing to trust.
For just as you can fall,
so I can be cut down.

I won't ask you to pick my fruits,
to tend my weeds, to bring me water.
But as one branch grows from another
so I feel my arms longing to reach out to yours.
And if words happen to fail me,
as so often they do,
would it be too much to ask
if I could blush in silence
and you'd be content to just be?