Songs of Thunder - II

Clap! Clap! Clap! Went the hooves. He was not a knight in shining armour. He was rusted. His was not a stallion with shining skin and a flowing mane. His was an old warhorse... decorated with scars. She was not a princess locked away in a tower. Just a girl with her fears and demons. There was no fire breathing dragon. Just the world and its people. The moon was waning...much like him. There were no clouds... no lashing rain... no lightening. In the moist damp room, he sat with a girl he came to free, but she was not ready. She felt home in the tower...where she knew each brick and each moss. So she asked him to wait.

And so he did. The rusted knight waited in the dampness that slowly ate away his armour... but he waited. Outside, there was thunder. No lightening... just thunder. Hollow... Weak... Confused... Thunder. Like a child lost in the dark woods... not knowing whether to cry or sing. The rust on his armour resonated...as to greet an old friend. This old friend... with his songs...these songs of thunder.

I do not know
What to make of your songs of thunder,
But when you sing,
I hum along.

We are what we choose to be.

Before we came into existence,

And long after we were gone,

The moonbeams kissed our graves,

For we lived with hope.

In everything that was in between,

We flowed like the river,

Separating two shores,

Never standing still.

In the eyes of the eternal soul,

We were but dust floating in the sunbeams,

Yet we searched for the universe,

In everything that was stardust.

For there lay the truth,

In all its beauty and brutality.

We were what we chose to be,

My dearest friend.