Dare Not To Whisper Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Thunder and war comes
humbling, in caverned
echoes, lashing and binding
the gathered while the waves
within tomorrow's tempests
trace what strengthens fiery
passions deem, haste wonders
of the night, impressed and long
in gloom and fear. Wind and rock
fixed on flight, snatched moments
breathed from speed quivering in
sounds to echo zeal; begun of foreign
pause. Settled in transient anger
ghastly glazed, fiercely raised
impatient of that sound doubled
no haughtier, restrained but a
moment, pursued by that drop
of time, of pain, hate, grief. That
pause, which length was eternity to
thought without hope or end. Gone
alone, in that hour, the curse of fate
wasting the only constant vanished
from slowly widening howls; grim
and desolate, sweet of luxurious
blight, the verge of melting music
at twilight's close. That wildest hand
decay slowly gathered; self-wandering
weary, heedless on desolation's cleft.
The sound of that claim, the silent
sleep, dark and done; plunged, sank
caught, vanishing from less and less
the sight hidden, and thought trembling
what voices remain, dare not to whisper