The Storm
by June Nash
.
Storm builds,
though water’s still calm
Smell it,
the damp dewy balm
Lead air,
heavy with quiet
Pressure,
will drop lower yet
.
Anger,
like a storm will rage
Quiet,
begins the first stage
Tension,
can smell how it reeks
Quiet,
when nobody speaks
.
At first,
a few drops of rain
Oozing,
beads of pent up pain
Tears change,
become mad downpour
Bursting,
winds blow open door
.
Unleashed,
rains pour from the sky
Released,
as ill feelings fly
Thunder,
clapping, lightning flash
Raging,
until no wind left
.
Lets up,
storm has run it’s course
Done in,
from thunder voice hoarse
Storm clears,
all to say’s been said
Head aches,
eyes swollen and red
June Nash 
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