š When Storm Forgets
Thereās something about storms that speaks to the soulānot just the external weather, but the inner turmoil we all face. This is a poem about transience: of love, memory, even identity.
The sky hangs low, the air stands still,
Clouds lean upon the window sill.
Thunder groansāan ancient vow,
Lightning carves the darkness now.
The rain returns, a loverās trace,
But never stays, wonāt leave a face.
I walk the streets where echoes burn,
Each step erasedāno way to turn.
The storm once whispered me by name,
Now hums it soft, then hides its flame.
One final cry, one final sighā
When all is still, when all is doneā¦
Did the storm leave, or had I gone?
If youāve ever stood at the edge of a stormāliteral or emotionalāyou might know the feeling: that strange in-between where everything is still, but nothing is quite the same.
I hope this poem resonates with you. šāØ
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