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The sound of thunder
2 40%
1 20%
From the same mouth as a eulogy
2 40%
Voters: 5.
The sound of thunder

a hush;

the stars decay,
spilling mercury on cataracts
like aurora borealis.
the sky turns comatose,
and for a second,
the world becomes stagnant.

but you quiver.

the clouds are choked
without a murmur.

and then, an arabesque;

two trains coalesce
with the grind of twisted metal
and the sound of railway sleepers.
suddenly, the earth shivers,
and for a second,
the air tastes arid.

and then it all ends
with a hush;


there's something beautiful about a storm:
the way it leaves your face weathered,
feeling like tangerine skins;
the way it leaves the air smelling
so threadbare and stale;
the way it feels like the world could end
at any moment with the sound of thunder,
and a dismal, haunting hush.

and there's something so incredibly comforting
about knowing that it didn't.


I wasn't sure if I was awake.
As I stumbled around my house,
I only saw an unfamiliar shade

and began coughing air out.
The room echoed and mirrored
it. I was frightened by the sound.

I remembered the smell of sugar
and bitter pangs on my tongue
but I couldn't recall it's color.

Specks floated weightless and spun
and like me, the clock seemed dazed
for it's hands slowed as if stunned.

I then grasped for a broom and swept all day
But when the dustpan was full, the room was still gray.

From the same mouth as a eulogy

Breached from Augustine climbs,
clasped palms systematically perforate
holes for presbyter masses.
Wanting to glide my fingers across your thighs in
church, and
waiting for the whisper to
She moves like the sea;
a perception so inclined to continue with tides.
It’s nothing but a sentiment, a shallow
measurement of adulation,
the concentration of raindrops in a puddle
as a sign of unification;
I’m only here because she is.
I balance the looks to my sides, once left to
pretend the life is falling out the sky, twice right to
catch a glimpse and smile at
some lady sharing lemon sherbets to pass the time.
For me
existence is a chequer board of
nights and days, where
destiny with human for pieces plays;
for I still cant reason why I’m here,
I wasn’t looking for saviour here behind this soapbox,
but she found me anyway.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
Last edited by The Hurt Within at Mar 6, 2007,
wasn't the ending of your piece
in your sig a while ago, steve?

anyways. i don't know which one to go with.
i'm leaning towards three but we shall see.

I just want to sleep forever.

Its another one of those lines I think of then plaster everywhere before I finally get to use it in a piece. So quite likely.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
Love thunder. Blue didn't do anything for me, really. But green was my favourite, just had that something extra imo.
although i hate the unoriginal title "untitled' the originality of the peice was on a much higher scale than the others and had a great rhyme scheme.
when im with you, there's nothing I wouldn't do, i just wanna be you're only one. im gasping out of straws, taken aback by what i saw that night before when we were all alone...
Quote by plus182
although i hate the unoriginal title "untitled' the originality of the peice was on a much higher scale than the others and had a great rhyme scheme.

This man has exquisite taste. I think it should be titled "Gray broom". Whatchu think?