When The Thunder Speaks

When The Thunder Speaks
© Surazeus
2024 05 06

When the thunder speaks to me from the sky 
I ignore its admonition to claim 
dust of the waste land as my right to live 
on treeless hill where mirror-eyed skulls sing 
hymns of praise when the mad dictator falls, 
crucified for his crimes against the world. 

What the thunder says in garden of ghosts 
that reverberate over city streets 
wakes the dead from every war of the past 
who bring water from the fountain of youth 
with rotten hands to refugees from war 
who cannot bear loud silence of the sky. 

Because the thunder knows my secret name 
that crawls with snarling rage from empty tombs 
I pretend I am patient about death 
while I map roadless waste land of the mind 
though children wander past their empty homes 
to sit by waterless pools among rocks. 

Yet sterile thunder without rain confers 
special sign to the seer among dry grass 
who alone hears sound of water all night 
while translating song of the hermit thrush 
that spreads white wings of angels in the heat 
each time another bomb becomes the rose. 

Since rainless thunder tries to speak to me 
I turn away and leave the holy book 
burning on the rock by the waveless sea 
to follow the woman with long black hair 
whose voice rings with hope from exhausted well 
though lightning flashes in the empty sky. 

Startled by voice of thunder in the sky, 
I listen close to secret of its code 
that reveals horrible state of mankind 
where the tribe with better weapons of death 
will kill their rivals for water and land 
because they would kill them first if they could. 

The skull that speaks with thunder of the sky 
floats on the altar in the church of wind 
to prophesy the rise and fall of kings 
while the people gather in ring of stones 
to pray for salvation from the Glow Cloud 
that dissipates in rays of summer heat. 

Key I forge from flame of the thunder voice 
opens every door on the spinning Earth 
so I sit on the bridge that never falls 
and fish till I catch Cetus with sharp hook, 
then feed five million refugees from war 
who cry out to the god of nevermore.