the silence in
your voice
is like a storm
in the cold.
when it thunders
the sky renders
a fidgeted cloud
wanting  to rowd
away to a bout.
it moves random
looking to stardom
wishing the rain
would fall.
and when it does
the calm
traps
any remaining  of the stabs
the weather
had dabbed.
the return of the sound
a musical
found
is perfect to  accompany the mind.
when you open up
and say
it is proud
all the things you 'lowed.