Thunder (Thorsdagr)
**(Prologue)**
I need a sip of thunder
To make these bones move again,
A shimmering shelter from the darkness
In her cold, dead eyes.
I’ll dip back into the shadows
Of a convenient alleyway—
Bring violence out of the closet
And shove it through your face,
That Vogue mask you wear,
Dusty tricks to sop up the blood
Of children broken by your prideful lust.
I need a sip of thunder
And a bag of fresh snow
To make this heart beat faster,
A volley of magic spoken by Moshe
On the mountain,
To shatter the black morass,
Escaping from your soulless lips.
From Norway’s fjords, where sky meets sea,
To the Highlands' whispers, where spirits run free,
We sailed through storms, our fates intertwined,
With ghosts of ancestors etched deep in my mind.
Through shadows of history, I tread on their ground,
In Carolina’s heart, where lost souls are found.
I need a sip of thunder
And a bag of fresh snow
To make this heart beat faster,
A volley of magic spoken by Moshe
On the mountain,
To shatter the black morass,
Escaping from your soulless lips.
In the galleys of memory, where the past lingers still,
I’ll bring vengeance from the embers of defeat, bend it to my will.
With the weight of my lineage, I rise from the dust,
To confront the demons born of pride and lust,
Glistening in your face, that Vanity Fair mask,
Slick with deception's grace.
I’ll carve a path through chaos,
With thunder in my veins, I embrace the chase,
Exposing your ashen corpse
To the condign sunlight.
I need a sip of thunder
To make these bones move again,
A shimmering shelter from the darkness
In her cold, dead eyes
(2025picturesandwords©️RolloRoberson)
“I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I’m finally free
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me
You’ll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
And I’ll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry
Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats
Blowing through the letters that we wrote
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves
You’re an idiot babe,
It’s a wonder you can even feed yourself.”- Bob Dylan
