Heat Storm

For a while I thought you’d bring out the thunder
of the beauty I didn’t know I had.
You said you yourself freed me,
that your silence is on my behalf
to better hear the boom of my sky in the night.
But when the humidity gathers and the winds begin to blow
you back to me echo
Like the sirens that ebb and flow.
And the spark stops short of its target,
dissipating in midair,
because there’s still something there.
Though rain can only hold for so long
before the clouds hang low in their role
and with a sigh release the truth they hold
and illuminate the sky so remarkable
that any trapped beneath it would behold.
For a while I thought you’d bring out the thunder
of the beauty I didn’t know I had,
but perhaps you did
just in time to miss the myriad.