Where Does the Thunder Sleep

Where does the thunder sleep,
Is this something anyone will ever know?
Does it hide in the deep,
When not with the wind it blows?
Couldn’t someone go far enough,
Over mountains, valleys, lakes and streams,
Dream their way through borders so tough,
Into the lands of ancient kings and queens.
Should they cross all continents and land,
Go hike through the wonderful forests of grass,
Or endure the challenges of the deserts filled with sand,
Then over the mountains daunting mass.
Maybe if they went high, soaring over clouds,
Or possibly to the core under the Earth’s mounds.
Does the thunder sleep north, south, east or west,
Left, right, up, or down?
I do not believe the compass will aid you,
Nor will any map uncovered with some secret path.
Any transportation-plane, bus, car, canoe,
There is no equation no simple problem of math.
This is a question with one, one answer only learned,
You see it is all around, just waiting to make its sound heard.

Messages You Could Never Ignore

The night is so inclosing,
But tonight it seems even more,
The cold air, bright stars, most think imposing,
But to me, it’s comforting-a magical tour.
I want to fly among the stars, get lost in them while time goes on,
Lay in their shinning glory in content so peaceful,
I want to perch on one, see up close the coming of dawn,
Catch a ride on the moon; go down with it in wistful.
See the world in a whole new way,
Not one so plain, so predictable and obvious,
In my eyes, it is never black and white, but so many shades of gray,
It is wonderful; all is very quiet, silent and joyous.
The night is so inclosing,
But tonight is seems even more,
Though it may seem dead, there is something I must implore,
That if you listen close enough, open your mind- explore,
You will hear messages you could never imagine and never ignore.

Quiet Before the Storm

Isn’t is funny how all is quiet before a storm,
How the world seems to know and doesn’t want to warn.
Like it has its own little secret,
And wants us all to regret.
That we ever thought we could outsmart,
Something we could never leave or part with.
Maybe it is the Earth crying or just cleansing itself,
But the beauty of a storm it just something of its own wealth.
Why is it quiet before a storm,
Is it a secret, a cleansing or a morn?
This I do not know, or really plan to know anytime soon,
Because the world has a beat, a song or mystic tune.
Something as this so ancient cannot be understood,
If we were meant to know by now, we would.
Isn’t it funny how all is quiet before a storm,

How the world seems to know and doesn’t want to warn.