A calm before the storm

A sudden proposal of abstinence,

Of silence.

Like the quiet 1920s, before the boisterous 30s and 40s,

Before the deafening soul glare of the depression and war,

These days are. 

A time before chaos,

The barometer screams 

With steam pressure,

Screams before 

It is

 “too late”,

The canary in the coalmine

Dead. 

The canary, singing, sweet songs

Of chaos, sweet songs

Of portentous days, and quiet nights

The canary,

Whistling the barameter’s tune

I know,

The 20s were said to be 

Roaring,

But a quiet squeak, 

Compared with 

The

Horrid hollow screams

Of

 Thousands 

Of 

young boys,

And young 

mothers,

And

 Old,

mothers.

So too,

I know some who think

This age boisterous,

But I,

 foresee a worse scream,

The scream of silence deadly

Aloft on the winds of future sounds.

Listen, it calls,

Whistling,

Shrieking

Warning,

Praying.

Listen,

Gloria. 

It calls before,

In the silence,

The “hollow”,

Before the storm.

A sweet sound shrieking. 

Nov/2019