Pit, pat, pitter-tat
The rain drums on my roof
Thunder, a distant drum
Booms, slams, crashes
A distant cacophony
Accompanied by birdsong
Splish-splash, titter, laugh
Children play in puddles
As innocent as a puppy in my lap
The storm passes
And the sun blazes again

There is a storm,
A grey beast.
I should hide, but I must protect this.
There is a storm,
A grey beast.
Protect this little creature.
In the corners, hiding eyes watch me,
He who should hide, but I must protect this.
Those hiding eyes,veer away.
Those hiding eyes, with snicker and sneer.
Those hiding eyes, with empathy and fear.
Become the storm,
This grey beast.

You'll never know how near the edge we came,
sailing past the world that's known to men.
Your ignorance, good Captain, was to blame
for the risks we took. You do not ken
how fragile was the ship, nor how the crew
was suffering in waters cold, beyond
our charts of isles and straits, the seas we knew
were far behind us, out of sight, long gone.
I guided us through danger, reefs and shoals;
the crew were stalwart, never letting fear
overwhelm their courage, though we rolled
upon our beam-ends, bringing shipwreck near.
You'll never know the gauntlet that we ran
to set your feet so gently on the land.

The gentle sounds of raindrops splashing upon the pavement 
Cars passing subtly and their whereabouts unknown
Lightning and thunder intertwined amongst the sky
The sounds of a stormy night are everything but shy

The darkness that has set in births occasional silence.
The flashlights of the street shine as if their lives depended on it
Beautiful portraits are the result of a rain pool's reflection. 
The leaf deprived trees once condemned by winter rejoice at spring's affection. 

The frightening sounds and threatening sights nag and scream all through the night
Until the silence spreads and the faint sounds perish
And the beauty of nature becomes something to cherish
But the morning becomes young as the night gets old and the remnants of a new day unfold.

This is to the boy I write about,
his sharp features and
crippling inconsistency,
the way his name rolls off my tongue
like he’s home and heartache,
crafted into one.

This is to the boy I write about,
He is faintly poetic, and
Unlike what I write, he is raw.
He’s the face of everything
I have yearned for,
he is the face of everything I’ve lost.

This is to the boy I write about,
Whose touch is like fire
and words are vanilla.
Whose honey eyes pierce
into mine too fast, and
make me crash too hard.

This is to the boy I write about,
Whom I borrowed
some pieces of history with
and left the memories on replay,
whom I fell in love with,
forgetting he didn’t know
what love is.

This is to the boy I write about,
Are we playing, honey?
Is any of it real?
When; Where does it end?
And who do we become when it does?

This is to the boy I write about,
A warning, a sign;
Do not fall for me.
I am chaos for your heart,
And we’ll destroy each other
in the heavenly way possible.
And we will understand
When we fall apart,
Why storms are named after people.

Let the clouds remind you
That I am always nearby
When the storms and thunder come
I sing along with them.  
As rain covers the earth
And deep clouds surround the sky
Hear the patter of the drops
And know all along
I’m by your side
Never too far gone
Feel the cool touch on your skin
Like a gentle tap from me
Let it remind you
I’ve never really left.
Smell the fresh breeze
Imagine me there
Let the winds whisper
About secrets and stories
I’ve left for you to share.
Smell the fresh scent
Close your eyes
And know above anything
You can see me in the sky.