deafeningly comes the thunder
from overcast mournful skies
and the townsfolk huddle in anxious masses:
“tonight,” they cry,
“our sins will face judgment!”

but the village children exchange sly glances,
for they know
that conscience comes not in loud angry claps
of zippered lightning,

but in shy whispered winds
and quiet swells of waves
and the occasional flutter of a soft heartbeat

and though inaudible to the ear
conscience in this form
masks all other sounds
and its omnipotence
reverberates and is felt
in every atom of the body and mind.