A thunderclap never truly dies, instead
It bores itself deep into places unseen;
Into a hopeful boy’s DNA
And it grows with his skin.
A thunderclap never dies,
it lives on in echoes;
In screams, in shouts heard
From across the span of the world
…
And they rip apart precious things
Like a stone pitched violently into the future.
Towards something beautiful like a painting.
Really, I must confess
A thunderclap never dies
Because it remakes itself;
A thunderclap never dies
Because it is alive in this poem.
