Thunder

In the simple winds of my soul
or the whispering prayer of my spirit,
in the intrusive oppression of my self
and the essential fears by my side
lie the complexities of the storm
as the dark circles of my eyes.

From the elaborate state of my mind
or the explosive ways of my heart,
from the daunting impression of my dreams
and the days of living by and by
come the mysteries of the calm
as the fray within my sleep.

The thunder speaks too often
in tongues and so in fear.
The forces there surrounding
only a symptom to revere.

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