He is the embodiment of a storm.
A perfect mess like lightning striking,
Thunder crashing, the wind stirring.
At the same time, he is the soft patter,
The gentle patter of the rain on roofs.
A storm rages as does his emotions,
From gentle to unforgiving.
The whisking wind,
Seventy miles per hour,
Enough to rip through trees.
The side of him you shouldn’t encounter,
That fraction you only see occasionally.
He is the soft showers that,
Littering us with their love,
Occur the most.
Just like thunder comes with lightning,
And lighting comes rarely,
You can’t catch his raging side often.