Sometimes I yearn for a wild, raging storm,
A tempest that morphs sky in an hour,
Where trees wail, and creatures seek the warm,
Mud-clad shelter from the feral power.
Dark clouds, a shroud, where the sun cannot pierce,
Winds howling tales of sorrow, long untold,
Every branch bending to the storm\'s fierce,
Grip, every leaf shivering, uncontrolled.
In the chaos, a savage, freeing grace,
An upheaval that matches my heart’s beat,
As rain tattoos the earth, my soul’s base,
Pounding in rhythm, with the storm’s fleet.
I crave the wild to drown my silent cries,
In the tempest, my own turmoil defies.