Can you hear it?
The big echoing boom?
Can you hear it, as it thunders right through the room?
Ah yes the thunder,
there before, during, and after the rain,
it's the sound of anger masking the pain.
The thunder it roars, and echos deep,
it's there when we don't want it, and there when we do,
it's an ever longing sound, that's meant just for you.
The thunder, hear it roll across,
the thunder, the thunder, listen as it claps.
The thunder is mighty,
for such a late reply,
but once it booms, and shakes the earth, that means you missed the sky.
For the thunder only comes,
following the flash,
like the clean slate on a rainbow, after the settling of the ash.
The thunder is here,
and yet it beckons near,
it's the sound we dislike,
but a song we hold dear.
Our own thunder.