Storm

This poem is about a deaf boy and his relationship with stormy weather.

Storms

I woke up with a smile on my face. Not even opening my eyes, I knew.

 I could feel it in the air and see the darkness through my eyelids. 

Grabbing the curtain, I snatched it aside. At last! 

I pressed against the chilled panes of the window. My sensitive hands picking up the tap tap and river flows of water. My hands are important to me. 

No, dire. They are my ears, but most of all my voice. 

I crept through the house praying that the door shut quietly behind me.

 Checking both ways I hurried to the dense forest. Brushing against wet leaves only seeing green. A sigh of ease. 

This was my place, my solitude. "Malcome's forest," I signed. 

Hunched against the falling drizzle I made my way to the flat stone. 

The place in which I lay upon hour after hour.

 Staring up at the tumbling clouds I watched lightening flash and felt thunder crash. 

This is where I am closest to the world. 

In the middle of a storm.

Author's Note

Hi, I am new at this! I have had this concept on my mind for a while and wrote it originally as a short story. When I read it, it felt more like a poem. Any feedback would be thanked for.