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.
- Author: gray0328 ( Offline)
- Published: July 9th, 2024 11:51
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Qurrat Al Ain
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