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Rated: E · Poetry · Environment · #1604529
I was standing outside on a warm summer evening and observed a far off thunderstorm
Woe to you forgotten gods
We cannot hear your toils
You are displeased with us, I think
But for what, no one knows
Do you yearn for our attention?
Is your anger a mask?
Even you are lost in time
Although you have always been
I can almost touch that part of me
That recognizes what you are
And hears all your demands
The elements are yours
But my body does not remember
How to let them teach me
So I wait
Until I forget again

© Copyright 2009 Thomas Crook (tcrook at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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