Anger surged like ocean surf, Dashed against his placid shore, Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, Deep inside he held the roar. None but he beheld the storm, Trapped beneath his surface calm. Little there to tell the tale - Nervous tick or sweaty palm. Yet, somehow, he beat the storm, He survived the demon dance. Still the average, quiet man, Back at work, seems still the same, Working hard and staying late, Playing hard at the old game.
Closer look shows something's changed, Eyes seem clouded, gray as lead.
Passion that once fired his soul, Lies exhausted, broken, dead. Though he walks through working day, And his body still seems warm, Heart and soul are cold as stone, Sacrificed in Silent Storm.