Thunder Speaks in Riddles
Thunder speaks in riddles
I was never meant to solve.
Maybe silence
is the only language
I was trusted with.
Birds circle overhead
with jeweled arrogance,
their laughter sharp enough
to cut the sky.
I can’t tell if they mock me
or mourn me,
but their wings sound
like pages turning—
as if my story
is already written
and they’re skimming
the last chapter.
I’ve run the race from all my haste
with lungs full of gravel,
asked forgiveness
from shadows that never answered,
left pieces of myself
in places no one visits.
And still the world
refuses to shift,
refuses to notice
the quiet collapse
behind my ribs.
This body—
five feet ten inches
of locked doors
and flickering lights—
feels less like a home
and more like a cave
I was sentenced to inhabit.
Yet the wind keeps pushing.
The birds keep laughing.
The grass keeps falling
at my feet.
Somewhere in all that darkness
is a truth I haven’t touched yet—
a shape moving just beyond
what I’m willing to see.
Copyright © Gregory Ramos | Year Posted 2026
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