The Ripple

A ripple on a serene lake
reminds me 
of the storm that
sleeps somewhere deep within me,
waiting for the right time to come back 
and rage.

A little breeze on my skin
is like a hurricane 
that takes me
to the land of 
the past, and reveals every hidden scar.
It 
takes 
me 
back.

All the trees, 
broken and ripped from the ground,
and the grass 
was consumed by fires.
Now, 
in the quiet times,
I can hear 
every distant thunder.
And 
I 
wait.