Will my anchor hold?

Deep, deep in the bowel of my heart, lies a treasure, the description, so difficult to impart.
Trauma's one to fourteen, in half as many years, Dear Job, how did you cope?
I haven't enough tears.
My heart, like a volcano erupted with force, showering down, struggling, to find it's own course.
At last I fall silent, so silent, I want to scream, why, oh why, can't I find my life's dream?
I dive to the depths to see if it's there, but my violent thrashing means, the water's not clear.
Exhausted, defeated, I'll lie on this ocean bed, being hardly aware of my pounding head.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and finally years, pass before I
dare peep, is this real or am I asleep?
How much has eroded? it's hard to define, but the water has cleared,
and I pick up a shell,
inside, a pearl of such peace that says "All will be well".