Spectator to the storm

That storm inside rises.
Growing high like the heat of the dead.
A multitude of atoms, releasing their own chaos.
Chasing tails and stolen sunbeams.
Within this languished heart a quell resides.
But it will not come.
The dam will not break to let you in again.
Causing such consequence.
Your holy war against all but which you call divine.
Once awed breath, that now freezes on my hearts windowpane.
A forgotten wisdom, lost in the jungle of your mind.
So travel, not under my door, but down the valley.
Into the sweet flowers of spring.
That turn your repetitious gales into a gentle breeze.
That tickle the hairs on the back on my hand.

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3 thoughts on “Spectator to the storm

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