The Storm

Silence, the lull
comes with the tell tale signs
Of restlessness and dissatisfaction
The wind takes its speed
shakes me up from inside
I know the storm is brewing
Slowly, steadily
And I hold on
As my hands become a fist
and wait for what is ahead.
I sit quietly,
though there are people around,
All I see is the screen
as I divert my energy
Through the fingertips
The sound within seems
louder now
The storm is on now
Full steam ahead.
It has gone raving mad
And still the fingers keep flying
Against the keyboard
The words lending a garb
To the restlessness within
So what you read in front
is the storm,
concealed in clothes,
perfect and civilized,
with not a crease for you
to pin point.