Though he was deaf, there brewed
furious fronts of sound
within a mind imbued
by a muse lightning-crowned,
and the vault of his skull
would never be denied,
the notes bellowing full
of the songs trapped inside—
a snowglobe that contained
storms born in silent glass,
the thunderclouds that rained
while his tempests gained mass,
raging thus, even now,
and resonating aft
from his fulgurous brow
and his undeterred craft.
Though he was thus impaired
with silence in his ears,
he dreamed of storms and dared
to resound through the years.

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