Thunderstorms
Take your firm place over me as an object of adulation.
A carved marker embedded in the tear saturated verdure.
What was once a sunny season of spectated distant speculation.
The soul now is pecked as pieces, for the vultures of acquisition prey upon a sudden demerger.
Linage upon lines layered across latitudes and leveled low longitude.
Forgotten times chiseled softly into hard stone.
Monograms affront the feigned meekness, encomium accrued.
Albeit mountains be moved for glory known, a pebble ultimately be upon us alone.
-M
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