A speaker stands alone on a mountain, wrapped in mist, listening to a thunder that makes no sound. The opening question, "Can you hear the silent thunder?", pulls the reader in, but it also feels like someone asking whether anyone else notices what they're going through. The thunder seems to stand for an inner turmoil that can't be spoken aloud, something heavy and constant that rolls in "on the wind."
The speaker feels both exposed and hidden. They are high up, under the clouds, "hiding in the mist," yet the rolling sound still "calls my name," as if the trouble has found them anyway. The lightning that "cracks with anger" suggests rage, whether the speaker's own or the world's, and the last line says it only "feeds my pain." The anger doesn't release anything; it makes the hurt worse. The mood is lonely, tense and stormy, with a sense of being trapped by feelings that keep building.