A flock of Angels came to my door yesterday.
Dark was the sky made tempestuous by their mighty wings.
Behind the clamor,
the screams of ravens
and the cries, I saw one thing:
The end of contact,
a parting of the ways,
by the dark one called Silence.
Back against the golden green blades of the lawn I fell,
and despairing, said:
"Silence, I do not know what to write."
And Silence spread his great dark pinions, and laughed.
Too wise to joing the prattling crowd,
Silence stood back, still, and knowing.
In his eyes, he knew time would call this fury
foolish; and in the end, call quiescence most prescient.Hunter Rose