Storm to Me

Storm to Me by Ryan Scales

The Furniture is flying.

I’m playing dodgeball with a lamp, a telephone,

And a TV Remote. I think you’re upset.

You mouth is a gail-force hurricane of 4-letter words

And I have no hope of surviving. A terrible cloud of venom-laced needles,

The insults fall on me like hail and I find myself saying

“Come closer. Bring your storm to me.”

“Hell hath no fury….” So they say,

And here I am still in the middle,

With the wind and the waves and every ounce of your rage.

Your elements batter me every which way and still I say,

“Come closer. Bring your storm to me”

Ironically, I only endure this madness for you,

Because of you and in spite of you,

Remembering the gentle flow of your river and the comfort

Found in the shelter of your mountains as the thunder dies away

And the storm is weathered.

Stay with me. Give your storm to me.