soundofmanywaters

  Silence   Silence is a kind of torture. The nicest child Would sooner be naughty than ignored. He who speaks hearing into the ears of the deaf Is silent now before his interrogators And the importunate impotence of their kingdom.   Silence too upon this bare spiked hill. The sudden-hushed Babel of the universe Wears black for its quiet and wasted king, For shame at loud men. It is for thieves to rail; He seems to have no business but to suffer.   And God is silent as the sun goes blank And a veil moves slowly over the heavens. No-one contradicts these bureaucrats and butchers As they congratulate themselves upon this killing. The silence bites into his soul. "My God, my God" -   Now these loud shouts. Now it is our turn To stare dumbfounded at the power of This crushed body and hoarse thirsty voice - Which tears graves open, ripping like a curtain The tortured silence forcing God from men.