The Thunder Comes

As war begins the thunder comes

Crackling echoic to the guilty;

Ghost-chasers target single

Thick clouds, ripped in shreds,

Looking for applause from shadows.

 

Glowing eyes survive microseconds

In heavy heads of complacent

Discovery.

Sleeping bears, cockroaches continue

To ignore new, deeper darknesses.

 

This furnace dream soon will end

With a whimper, thrown away

Like a used tissue of lies.

Look, the sunset's returned

To take a long last look at me!

 

Sirens, everywhere distant;

Screeching demons unreconstructed,

Like the defiance of Catholic saints:

“Too loud, too late,

Too loud, too late”.

 

Chris Hubbard

April, 2021