In the eye of the storm, she is magestically magnificant
Fearlessly flying though gargantuan gusts and wrathful whirlwinds,
Smoothly soaring above hidden hazes and frosty fog,
With effortless ebony feathers fondled by the wind.
In the eye of the storm, she is fiercly ferocious
Silently swooping on vunerable victims and gregarious game,
Readily ripping their hideous hearts from their saddened souls,
Ethereally existing and precariously prevailing in a fabricated fantasy.
In the eye of the storm, she is perpetually passionate
Inattentively intoxicating the carnal collaboration she needs to survive,
The inexplicable infatuation presently passing her by,
As she is delightedly detached from tenacious ties.
In the eye of the storm, she is tenderly timorous
Secretly scared of the tormenting truth escaping her sorrowful spirit,
Heedlessly hungering for a breezeless blizzard and an impassive inundation,
Only with which she can serenly settle to her starless sky.
