There's silence before
the storm descends
and silence creeps in after.
In the interlude,
everything is caught within
a stormy breaker and crafter.
It breaks the barriers of quiet,
tearing down the shroud
beneath which lie voices.
As shrieks and howls,
they escape their silent captor,
and they rejoice.
The storm surrounds me
and I, rapt by its beauty,
Am part of its destructive thrill
In the eye of the storm,
caught in a crossfire of thoughts,
I surrender to its will.
It takes me up,
blinds my conscience,
but leaves my creative spirit awake.
As I swish and tumble
in this unexpected rush,
there's more than sanity at stake.
The storm collapses
as do I,
sapped of energy and words.
Resultant broken restraints around,
I step into the light
to see the flighty thought-birds.
As I return to shelter,
past the ruins of
the storm's wild embrace,
I long for it to
enchant me again
with its creative grace...
[Image courtesy - Shiree Gilmore: Eye of the Storm]
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