Silent Thunder

I was the silence for what felt like ages.

Silence amid your earthquakes that threatened to cave our world in.

Silence, drowning out the howling wind of your wrath.

Silence, like an empty cave, echoing back only what you wanted to hear.

Like ice melting, dripping slowly, softly from the stalactites…

Constant dripping in darkness.

Not quite dead, but mostly still,

Wondering why nothing felt alive except creeping things, haunting the silence.

Hush, hush…no creeping allowed, no living allowed in the silence.

In the dark, how could you have seen?

The dripping was filling the chambered pool, and the spring was rising.

The swelling couldn’t be contained much longer and then,

I was the thunder, taking over the sky.

Thunderous, rushing rapids washing over cavernous walls,

Thundering, sweeping away the mold and guano of the sticky cavern walls.

Thunder, not creeping or crawling,

Overcoming the silence of the echo chamber,

Couldn’t hear what you wanted me to say anymore.

Couldn’t feel what you want me to feel anymore.

Couldn’t fear the darkness anymore.

Only heard my own voice then, and it thundered.

It was time for that good kind of storm.

Bursting into the light came the rushing waterfall.

Falling from the open cave into a clear as crystal forest pool

Falling on the green things and the swimming things and bathing things

Falling like a fresh rain of clarity, nourishing the life that depends on this spring,

Feeling the light like it was the first time.

Making the ground tremble, but not an earthquake.

Droplets scattering rainbows across everything in the path.

And the waterfall isn’t quiet, but the forest is still.

There is only the good kind of thunder,

the good kind of dripping,

the good kind of hush on the breeze in the trees,

and the best-ever kind of silence:

The silence of peace.