Fighting Grief

Finally,
the clouds have begun their retreat.
The winds now jaded with hesitation,
like a nasty temptress
daring me to incite relief,
or even hope,
that this storm set upon me
might cease or falter.

If it is the sun's light I see
parting the darkness ahead
like a silken veil,
I welcome it.

I can only hope
that it is not the light of fire,
a fire that will swell and consume me,
a fire that broke out
because I was foolish enough
to be tricked
by the stutter
of the wind.