The second poem was that of sound, something, anything about the sounds we hear in daily life, those vibrations that reach our ears and that stand out to us amidst all the others. I chose thunder, as I have an intense interest in lightning, and also an childhood fear of thunder. Coming from a quiet neighborhood in the midwest, thunder was, to mine child ears, a loud and unwelcome thing. As I grew older, I became interested in lighting, which produces thunder, and only slightly adjusted. In this poem, I talk about what it is like to hear thunder, and I used the formatting itself to mimic a waveform.
Ghost of the Lightning
It starts with a flash, seen well before it’s heard.
A thin strip of light bisects the sky, rain patters down on the road.
Raindrops illuminated, given form and shape in the cloak of night.
The flash subsides, hide the rain, leave only telling wetness behind.
The sky growls, its voice passing through the clouds and winding through the rain.
It comes closer and closer, a rumble spreading across the ground, a wall of sound.
It arrives like a blast, as quick as it is grand.
The lightning is gone, but its voice remains, screaming over the land.
It passes through you, rattling your ribcage and one-upping your heart.
It is your new heartbeat for a brief moment. It shakes you to your core.
But then it’s gone, over your shoulder, screaming off to another part of the world.
Yet the feeling of that new heartbeat lingers, like electricity in your veins.
Behind you is the echo of a ghost, that fading growl of a bygone clap from God.
As ephemeral as the lightning that birthed it, it’s gone far from your ears.
The pattering of the rain remains, hidden by the night, tapping you head and shoulders.
The voice is gone, but in the sky, off in the distance, another flash. The lips move again.