(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Disturbing Is The Thunder

Disturbing is the thunder.
As if accompanied,
By tampani drums.
Orchestrating events to come.
People nervously sit through it.
Or decide from it to run.

Plucked violin strings,
Dance as raindrops...
Begin turning into streams.
Flooding all things possessed.
Abandoned by those running undressed
And caring less to impress.
Fear has replaced,
False pretensions to make.

This storm,
Without permission.
Or announced intermission given.
To an audience left to leave,
Frightened into enlightenment.
Or returning from it,
To comfort in restored ignorance.

Disturbing is the thunder.
And shakened to their knees...
When God demands to be heard.
Leaving many pleading:
'God, please!
Forgive us who sin.
And disobey YOUR wishes.
Over and over...yet, again.'

Even if this means,
Dramatically changing...
Silencing those needing,
To be reminded where they are.
And who authored this epic,
Losing patience to tolerate...
But warns that patience kept,
Isn't promising more threats.
Or steps taken,
Before the music of it created...
Gone unappreciated.

Disturbing is the thunder.
Dimming a Sun that routinely comes,
For some to witness...
Their wishes and forgiveness,
Given to be granted.

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