Thunderstorms… the thunderstorms are

The sounds of the booming thunder echoes like the deepest thudding

Of a shattered heart

Yet, the lightning which streaks before it and after it

Is the crimson passion, by which I stand firm, resolute and completely, utterly destitute

All those pretty memories at the ready, and yet only I dare to drink the nepenthe

To forget, the impending tragedy at the door

Quoth The Raven, “Nevermore”

And indeed did I not forget it then as I do now,

Though my story is almost complete, the final chapter is not written, and the story…

The story still can come in the least, undone

Like the frightening crescendo Mother Nature writes in the sky line

So as to say, the passions written deeply on my soul

For twice I cried in the rain,

Thrice I died in it,

The ternary step to the equation led me to the pivotal crossroads

The question to be asked?

Did I love you, and if so, do I still love you still

Begs entrance as if it were a lover in the midnight hour

Perhaps, it’s a question to which I cannot dare answer, yet

Despite all that was and is, it’s something truly forbidden that I dare to answer,

If only had I the answer in hand to give it.

Were I to drive across desert roads, hellish winds and feverish illusions

Deign I, a man, to hold you close again, to promise nothing to cleave us again

Flesh of my Flesh, Desire of Mine Desire

The nights still play where I kissed the doors of the secret inner chamber,

Only dying to fill the inner sanctum with my soul, my life, my life-giving essence

That I should be born in your heart, die in your lap and be buried in your eyes

Denying Hell’s Ninth Circle, and standing tall at St. Peter’s Gate

Mayhap, I only dream and fathom that which cannot be

No matter,

For even in the midst of the storm, lies the eternal beating of my heart.

Hear it now, my love and my lover

Know that when you see the lightning, it is the path to where you may find me

When you hear the thunder, know it was for you and you alone that my heart

Should weave its tale of its passions, its sorrows, and its desires

As if the skies were a loom by which the tapestry should depict its epics

Know that, you are destined to me as I to you,

Nothing in the midst of this tawdry love affair, this powerful spell we weave

Nothing, even up against the wind, should undo this marvelous crescendo

As this waves pound against your shore

And the lightning strikes against my heart.