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.