Olympus

I hear the thunder, He yells of the pain, That creeps into his soul, With blotches and blain, The lighting strikes, Leaving his mark in the grass, where will he go next? Never to return to a already touched path, Rain splashing unto grey stones, Drowning us with her sorrow, Showering us with her agony, And burying her heart to wallow , I wait the sun to come, But only to be burned by her scorn, My skin cooked from her rage, And my body for-worn, Then the gentle moon comes , And she heals me with her kiss , Gravity pulls me to her , There i lay on the crescent of her bliss.