The Silent Storm

The Silent Storm is not just the echoes heard in the night,

It’s the roar of the memories that hold on so tight.

It’s the thunder that echoes within the crowded room,

And the lighting strikes that fragment the gloom.

It’s the winds of ambiguity that never seem to fade,

The many treacherous battles within that can’t be displaced.

And it’s not just the nightmares that come in the dead of night,

But the shadow of stolen memories which clouds the light.

And what of this expression, this burden, “nightmares?”

A shadowy dominion, no solace dares.

Rooted in Old English, it first took flight,

The demon, the mare, who suffocates those in the night.

A spirit that presses on a sleeper’s chest,

Crafting horror that takes one’s rest.

In German lore, it spreads its dread,

From the Old Norse mara to where Slavic tales led.

Over the centuries, the word evolved,

To name the fears that were never resolved.

A sensation of dread, oppression, despair,

A peek into the darkness, lingering there.

The Silent Storm, like the nightmare’s lore

It’s not just a battle fought behind closed doors.

It shapes how we think, how we see, how we live,

Demanding more strength than the world can give.

It’s the flood of the feeling we do our best to contain,

The weight of the downpour we can’t explain.

But it’s also the proof of the determination we hold,

Navigating rough waters, both fierce and bold.

Day after day, we forge ahead, weathering the gale,

Standing tall when we would rather assail.

The Silent Storm is the name we give,

To this force inside us teaching us to live.

So, when you hear this storm in the air,

Know it’s a journey, a cross we bear.

Not something to “get over” or simply ”let go.”

But a part of us now as we learn to grow.