The Eye of the Storm Was His Fists
The End was when she walked away with out fear
The Eye of the Storm Was His Fists
His fury rose like a thunder’s cry,
A storm unleashed in the midnight sky.
No warning came, no calm before,
Just the crack of rage and a slamming door.
The eye of the storm was his fists, so tight,
Spinning the winds of fear and fright.
Walls trembled, windows shook,
Love erased with every look.
Lightning lived in his sharpened glare,
A silent threat, a whispered dare.
His hands would fall like pouring rain,
Leaving bruises dressed in pain.
She stood in the wreckage, small and still,
A paper boat in a sea of will.
The tide would turn, the winds would wane,
But scars would whisper his name in vain.
Some storms fade, dissolve, subside,
But his remained, a beast inside.
Even in peace, the echoes stayed,
Thunder’s ghost in skies of grey.
Yet one day came with a sun so bold,
Breaking the chains of a story old.
She rose like dawn, her voice like flame,
And called the storm by its true name.
Now silence hums where tempests roared,
The winds are gone, the rains ignored.
The eye of the storm was once his fists,
strength was hers to put and end to unhappyness.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
As a DV survivor this poem resonates so deeply and is so wonderfully expressive of the storm that living with that is. I love the line "And called the storm by its true name" as she takes back her own power. Well done!
Brilliant 👏