Stir

The sound of thunder scares
Some recognition from the soul;
Excitement in the wonder
Of what they're doing there,
Among the gods of flashes
And the gods of pounding tins;
One may hear above the wind,
The sounds of deep within.

These Lessons

These lessons we learn
Are counted,
In not so many strokes.
We think to be wiser,
We think to be grown.
But the winds will blow,
And the clouds will cover.
And we will continue to gaze
On the memory of stars,
Long ghosts.
Which will continue to shine
For our children.
Who will smile upon them
And imagine that they are new,
And meant for them.
Not imagining the black void;
Not understanding,
The warm breezes of a storm.