Thunder on the Mountain

Why do you pretend, my lovely?

There, on that lonely height?

How are you truly believing

that these thin cries of strife

can rival the earthly cry of life?

How you fooled us in the valley,

with graceful masks and sugared ice,

too sweet in a house of cards,

a gamblers fort that lies the disguise,

with those dead, arrogant eyes,

as if we wouldn’t hear

a distant call of thunder.

It was in the twist and the turn,

an inaudible hiss of hate,

a prostitution of words,

the rejection of fate.

It was in the sly need to tease,

the unspoken disease

in the kiss for show of rape,

and this sinister need to drape

Now, do you know an unknowing?

Standing alone in the darkness flowing?

Through thighs and the eternal showing?

And if Judas had a wife, she’s here, now,

sounding destiny’s bells through hells

failing silently still as an unseen night.

And the thunder within and the thunder without

they come together, my beauty,

and still, you are more than this.

Some way you’ll find, oh foolish one and only

That safer, heavenly human place

where ‘better’ and ‘more’ are gone.