The Storm It is late at night and in my room, Darkness prevails as a kind of gloom. Whispers the sentinel of events to be. A flash of lightning, outside I see. The quiet is broken by Hell sent thunder. I leap from my bed and there hide under. On pane of glass, the droplets smash. Like hammer on nail, it seems to bash. Out in the vortex of wind and rain. The calm is lost, for Chaos, a gain. With eyes closed tight, I call out my cry. "What have I done, that I must die?!" The answer I receive in a voice so deep. "Damn it Chris, Go back to sleep!" Now reassured, for mom was near, I knew now this storm was nothing to fear.