The Thunder In My Epistle Poem by John Sensele

In my life, thunders roars

From my hands slip oars

I no longer strive to work

When in my lap lands a quirk

Saluting the departure

My eyes gaze at in the suture

Severing sinews from the past

Rushing through the blast

Seeping vestiges of the hope

Peeping in tears at the slope

Where my hands let go of the derision

My soul shoves away with pure precision

Signalling the exact time I give up

For my singed lips to drink the bane in the cursed cup

Daring the world to go to Hell

At the knell of the blue bell

My ears no longer desire

As cramps in my belly won't expire.