Thunderstorm

My voice is thunder.

It cannot be quieted

Or made separate from the lightning

That accompanies it.

 

My voice booms

And is followed quickly

By the slash of lightning

That is my angry face.

 

Perhaps I should rephrase.

I am a thunderstorm

And you cannot stop me.

 

I will only stop

When I run out of water

To rain down upon a conversation.

 

But I am a thunderstorm

And I’ve still got water left.

Blair Abney