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
Nov/2019
