Thunder
The rumble begins beneath the surface,
a pulse that crawls through marrow and stone,
A deep, unhurried warning, the kind that shakes old bones
and gnaws at the unknown.It stirs in concrete foundations,
in sleepless apartments where the brave pretend to rest,
Vibrates through broken streetlights,
finds its way into the pit of every chest.The air grows thicker,
pulled tight between hush and hysteria,
A single muttered prayer dies beneath the radio static,
hope thinning to a bacteria.Above,
the clouds sag with threat—smoke and bruises sprawling across the night,
Heavy with secrets, electrified with the dread of what won’t set things right.
Children stop their games, feeling it vibrate through dirty sneakers,
Grown men stiffen at windows,
blinking away the memories of past freakers.Old women mutter of omens,
their hands twisted by stories and storms,
No one claims to believe, but everyone listens for how the danger forms.The
first flash carves a wound through the red—no rain, just a jagged line,
A temporary day in a world gone malignant,
slicing the ordinary from the divine.The electricity smells of metal,
promises nothing, and offers no plan,
Yet every heart in town beats slower, waiting for the thunder’s demand.
The ground swells with each vibration,
plates and glasses shudder in their cabinets,
Dogs whimper, cats slip away,
and even the birds seem to sense the heaviness.Lovers turn from each other,
strangers eye the horizon,
Neighbors mouth small talk that dissolves as the tension’s
size inThe neighborhood grows. No one admits what they fear,
But the air itself has teeth—sharp, insistent, near.
Above, that swollen sky flickers—red and silver colliding,
Each flash a question without answer,
every bolt dividingThe world into before and after,
right now and never again.It isn’t just weather—it’s an ancient drum,
a closing in of men.Not a drop falls, but the clouds sweat warning,
a pressure that pins the tongue,
People count seconds, but the silence between is long
and wrungFrom the fabric of something sacred breaking,
As if every mistake made by the living is wakingIn the night’s trembling.
Thunder in the distance, never quite here,
A beast that stalks the borders of courage and fear.Its voice is a verdict,
pounding the city in time with every regret,
Reminding the hopeful how easily the sun can forgetTo rise on schedule,
how fast the sky can betray.The world waits for release,
each heart at playBetween panic and numbness,
wishing for rain to cleanse the dread,
But the thunder just rolls, relentless and unsaid.
A sky gone red, the drum of warning, a prelude with no refrain—Something’s coming,
a future with teeth, with fire, with pain.Maybe it’s heaven breaking open,
or just hell finding its way,
But tonight, the thunder holds us,
and no one knows what to pray.It pounds in our veins, a reminder,
a scar—That every ending announces itself from afar.And sometimes,
the terror is not in the storm’s release,
But in the waiting, the listening, for a promise of peaceThat never quite comes,
as thunder keeps circling the blood,
And the world is left silent, waiting for the flood.