There is a strange silence
Quietly wolfing down
The playful chatter of a world
That sang with the birds last month.
There is a strange silence
That raises its head
Each time the numbers are quoted
Of warriors who fall before
The killer stalking the earth.
And yet, as voices speak
Through the screens before us,
And fears crystallize into
Little fist-size rocks
That hurtle against our ribs,
Hope whispers a little song.
The masked angels, it says,
Will one day, lift their weary heads,
Throw off their gloves
And step out of the white citadels
To proclaim victory.
Quietly wolfing down
The playful chatter of a world
That sang with the birds last month.
There is a strange silence
That raises its head
Each time the numbers are quoted
Of warriors who fall before
The killer stalking the earth.
And yet, as voices speak
Through the screens before us,
And fears crystallize into
Little fist-size rocks
That hurtle against our ribs,
Hope whispers a little song.
The masked angels, it says,
Will one day, lift their weary heads,
Throw off their gloves
And step out of the white citadels
To proclaim victory.
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