(n.) The low rumble of distant thunder
The sky soon shall shed its tears,
I sit outside I have no fear.
I imagine myself on the pale hot shore,
wiggling my toes in white sand,
laughing at the idea of rain.
What numbskull could think it would rain?
I have heard no thunder
but my ears were full of sand.
I did not feel my eyes fill with tears.
I made my bedroom door the shore
and I was an ocean people would fear.
I had never felt this much fear
clouds filled my eyes and down came the rain.
The storm now covered every inch of the shore
and my words became the loudest thunder.
I awake in my bed, wet from my tears
and I wish I was in the sand.
Oh, I wish I was in the sand,
not drowning in a puddle of my own fear,
not filling my lungs with salt-like-sea water tears.
My wishes are wicked away like sprinkled summer rain.
They are as far away as the low rumble of distant thunder.
They come and go as often as the shore.
I open my door, greeted by the rising dawn shore
and I step on the carpet like it is the white sand.
There is no more thunder,
but there is still fear.
I sit on the back porch, and feel the morning summer rain,
and wonder why the sky here, always has tears.
The sky fills its own eyes with tears,
and the sunrise still reminds me of the shore.
I wish that in the morning, it was not allowed to rain,
that it had to be crisp and dry like summer sand.
That way I do not have to fear,
the low rumble of distant thunder.
Oh, the morning showers are the sky’s jealous tears, he wishes he could be a sun rising in the sand
He rumbles, ”The morning sun rising with the shore is so much more pleased, he never cries, he never weeps! Please do not fear,
the rain, but the rumble of low distant thunder.”
