Poem – Naming the Storm

– by Per Norrgren

In the quiet breath before the storm,
I stand with a heart full of whispers,
The tempest gathers at the edges of thought,
But I, in this fragile moment,
Reach out to the clouds within,
And name them.

Fear, like a shadowed raven,
Flies close to my skin,
Its wings brushing against the delicate bones
Of my resolve.
But when I speak its name,
The feathers fall like autumn leaves,
And the sky, once choked with thunder,
Clears.

Anger, a flame that leaps and curls,
Threatening to consume the forest of my calm,
Burns less brightly when I call it forth,
A fire known is a fire tamed,
The blaze dwindles to embers,
And I, the quiet keeper of its name,
Am no longer its fuel.

In the naming, there is a surrender,
Not of power, but of the need to control,
For what is named is understood,
And what is understood
Can be held with tender hands,
No longer a beast in the night,
But a creature of the day,
Tamed by the simple act of being seen.

Here, in the aftermath of words,
I walk through the fields of my mind,
Where emotions once raged,
Now soft with the bloom of peace.
Each one, a name whispered to the wind,
A storm passed, a calm found,
And I, the namer of my own heart,
Am free.

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