Stormsong

The tempest arrived uninvited, 
a brooding guest at the doorstep of the world. 
It swept across the horizon, 
trailing its charcoal cloak, 
and whispered secrets to the restless trees. 

The sky, once serene, now churned with ink and fury. 
Thunder growled like a wounded beast, 
and lightning danced across the heavens, 
illuminating the jagged edges of existence.

In this maelstrom, I found solace—
a communion with chaos. 
The rain, relentless and insistent, 
baptized me anew. 

Each drop carried memories: 
the salt of forgotten tears, 
the echo of laughter, 
the weight of unspoken words. 

I stood on the precipice, 
my skin a canvas for the storm’s brushstrokes. 
The wind wove through my hair, 
untangling knots of longing and regret.

I spoke to the tempest:

“Tell me, wild one, what secrets do you guard? 
Are you the harbinger of endings or the promise of renewal?”

The storm answered in riddles, 
its voice a symphony of crashing waves and rustling leaves. 
It told of lost ships, swallowed by hungry waves, 
and sailors who clung to splintered planks, 
their prayers swallowed by the abyss. 

It sang of lovers torn apart, 
their whispered vows carried away on the wind. 
And yet, it promised rebirth—
the earth’s thirst quenched, 
seeds buried deep, waiting for resurrection.

I listened, my heart a drumbeat:

“Are we not like storms, you and I? 
Born from chaos, sculpted by winds of change. 
Our love, too, is tempestuous—
a collision of elements, fierce and unyielding.”

The rain tapped out a rhythm on my skin, 
and I imagined our tangled limbs, 
the taste of salt on your lips. 
We were tempest-born, 
our kisses lightning strikes that seared the night.

But love, like thunder, 
could be both creation and destruction. 
We carved canyons in each other’s souls, 
leaving scars as testament to our passion.

And so, I surrendered:

“Take me, storm. Strip me bare, unravel my defenses. 
Let me be both vessel and tempest. 
For in chaos, there is truth—
the raw ache of desire, 
the ache of longing.''