Poetic Interlude: Buried in Thunder

I Hear distant whispers

and sighs.

Black lies.

Black skies

of high cloud cradle

ambient thunder.

The distant throb

of electric anger.

The sky is calling,

is falling.

Drifts down past

my wind-numbed ears,

my burning eyes.

These lies

assemble like soldiers,

shoot to kill.

But I am knee deep

in cumuli drift,

and buried in thunder.

© Ren Warom 2012

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7 thoughts on “Poetic Interlude: Buried in Thunder

  1. Hello, Ren. *waves* I found this one spoke to me. You see, I’m one of those knuckle-heads who enjoys standing before a window in order to watch the special effects of a storm. We’re not supposed to do that because it’s too dangerous…but danger is our business, isn’t it? 😉
    If nothing else, I’ll see you Friday.

    -Jimmy

    1. Ah, nothing knuckle-headed about storm gazing. I am drawn to storms, I think most people are, they’re pure power, we can’t help but feel awed and humbled.

  2. I know knowt ’bout poetiking, but that thar stormy warmy stuff done got me by the gizzards’n’stuff. ‘lectricty, see, it done sparked me right up.

    🙂

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