The Tempest Within

 

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.