[The first line is taken from The Snow-Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson for Everyday Poems]
In a tumultuous privacy of storm
we are the winds that uproot trees,
the air currents that form tornadoes,
ripping through the landscape,
demolishing the scenery.
Bodies, we collide;
forces of nature, we cannot be tamed.
The storm we make is crashing:
flashes of lightning from the electricity between us,
peals of thunder announcing our downpour.
We are drenched in the other’s rain;
we are clouds filling each other’s skies.
But this tempest is limited to the world we inhabit,
here, inside these walls.
Outside, the sky is clear.
And in a peaceful publicity of calm,
our rage remains private.