The quiet storm,
Silent as she snores,
A tempest wrapped in dreams
Drifting through the hush of night.
Peaceful on the surface,
But deep within,
She brews the weight of worlds.
Her breath, a soft rhythm,
Like waves upon a midnight shore—
Calm, yet laced with thunder
That never begs to roar.
She sleeps with grace,
A warrior at rest,
Bearing battles no one sees,
Dressed in peace like Sunday’s best.
Her mind—a sky of swirling clouds,
Her soul—a sea of storms and light.
In stillness, she is power,
In slumber, she is might.
She is the quiet storm,
Not loud, not wild,
But strong enough to shape the winds—
A woman, a spirit,
God’s whisper in the whirlwind.
©heavenecho
H