Shells

A multitude of “what ifs” fill his simple mind as he waits.

This shell he is concealed by should protect him from the harm of the world. It is there where he resides with only his mind and the quite that fills the air. Though, deep down there is more.

He knows there must be more.

Life cannot merely be where he lay.

Dark and cold is his surroundings,

But, he tell himself walls are needed.

He cannot be venerable to what the darkness holds.

He feels lost, confused, and lonely, but safe.

If he did not have this shell, his world would be exposed and change.

But suddenly the feared change happened.

How could this be?

Behind such a hard shell,

Could he feel such a change?

This change was unfamiliar but somehow delightful.

It was cool and refreshing.

It was a light mist across his face.

Still covered by his wall,

The world seemed to distort its image.

His questions give birth to many more,

As he absorbed the changes around him.

Soon the newness wore off.

What as once a delightful changed again into an overwhelming burden.

He did not know this sprinkle would morph into a storm.

What if he did not welcome this first change?

Could he have prevented this weight from happening?

And emotion burned inside him, he did not know if this feeling was anger

Or a sudden passion for change.

Could he now be desiring change?

He deeply longed for the ceasing rain to stop.

Yes, this time he wanted change!

He wanted it more than ever.

He grew sick of his shell.

This shell, constantly being pounded on by the storm.

He could not take it anymore.

He was sick of the spot he sat.

He was moved with the motivation for life outside of what he knew.

It was then that he sprouted.

Finely pushed to the point of a discontent with sitting.

He grew.

This growth was very little at first,

But soon major changes began to take place.

He was unsure,

But welcoming to what life was giving him.

Each change was a stepping-stone to a deep freedom,

Beyond that old shell he was in.

Now, I see him,

A large and beautify sunflower.

To me, he is a picture of life.

His face follows the son,

Longing for more of what this life will bring.

To me, he is an inspiration.

Giving hope for those who are searching.

Those searching behind the shell they are in.

To me, he is beautiful.

His full blossom yields a sight that no shell could ever compare to.

I admire this process.

The  process that this sunflower went through,

To find himself now longing for life.

Maybe my admiration is because I can relate.

This process is one I am in.

Opening and sharing,

Struggling, and persevering,

Growing and striving,

To be an encouragement to others.

The process of is growth is a lovely one.

Giving life to all who can grasp hold of the change.

Letting the storm wash them clean,

And making them beautiful.