The Invisible Storm
In a world that screams in colours and sound,
where every drop of noise becomes thunder,
where light does not simply shine, but cuts,
a storm rages - unseen, unheard.
where every drop of noise becomes thunder,
where light does not simply shine, but cuts,
a storm rages - unseen, unheard.
It is not a hurricane that splits the trees,
nor a flood that swallows the land,
but a silence that roars, a chaos that swirls
behind eyes that seem so calm.
nor a flood that swallows the land,
but a silence that roars, a chaos that swirls
behind eyes that seem so calm.
Every voice lingers like an echo too loud,
every flickering light a blade too sharp.
The air hums with invisible sparks,
a web of sensation, an endless wave.
every flickering light a blade too sharp.
The air hums with invisible sparks,
a web of sensation, an endless wave.
You say, “Just relax, it’s not that bad.”
But how do you explain the wind to one who feels no breeze?
How do you describe a storm to one who only knows stillness?
But how do you explain the wind to one who feels no breeze?
How do you describe a storm to one who only knows stillness?
Sometimes you long to vanish, to dissolve into quiet,
but you are here - drowning in waves of noise.
Not weak, not broken, not less than another -
just searching for peace in a storm that never settles.
but you are here - drowning in waves of noise.
Not weak, not broken, not less than another -
just searching for peace in a storm that never settles.
