QUIET STORM
Silently it billows
Like soft, feathery pillows
Punctuating the clear, blue skies,
While surreptitiously it belies
The turbulent interior
Of the serene exterior
Of this always shifting,
Forever drifting,
Endlessly searching,
Not so wise old
Hapless soul.
And like the clouds,
So too internal shrouds
Eventually
And temporarily
Dissipate, and a moment of calm
Does permeate the invisible, quiet storm.
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