Poetry. Words.

Calm in the storm.

The wind howls.

Growling, tugging unsuspecting hairs to and fro.

Bashing, pushing, and shrieking.

The rain pours in torrents, merciless, wreaking havoc.

Empowered, bold, loud.

Free in the noise, I run.

I squeal. No one else is crazy enough to be out in this weather. No one else would dare be struck by lightning.

Only to feel the rain caress their face. Only to feel the damp chill of their clothes sticking to their skin. Shivering.

Laughs stolen by each current of air. Leaping through puddles. Splashing, Meddling, Dirtying shoes.

Headlights obscured by sheets of rain. Warm glowing light. Shades of grey and misty darkness.

Bellowing. Drumming. Rattling.

Pulses of dazzling lightning. Emerging momentarily. Spectacularly bold. Presumptuous. Magniloquent.

Playfulness set free. Boundaryless.

Peace in chaos.

Silence in pandemonium.



Boisterous, Crashing.
Pulsing, raging.
Redefining boundaries.

Remnants of a blanket.
Open crevasses, dents.
Manoeuvres of a clumsy puppeteer.

A thousand tin cans clinking.
Buoys bobbing.
Boats rocking.

Flimsy, delicate silk.
Weightless yet deep.
Gentle yet underestimated.

Permeable stability.