They come together, the four brothers,
Riding side by side.
Creeping, slowly, inch by inch,
closer and closer.
The first sends storm after storm.
Crops die, and so do children,
Crying, hungry.
Only lives are reaped.
The second sends a plague.
Smiling cruelly,
as life after life is twisted, crippled
and slowly ripped away.
The third just whispers,
of pride, or greed, or devotion,
in the ears of a powerful man,
and laughs as a thousand men die in sacrifice.
The last one comes then, the eldest,
and takes all the screaming souls in his hold,
and never lets go.
And I stand,
watching them advance,
creeping, slowly, inch by inch,
closer and closer,
Knowing my fate,
but utterly helpless.
YOU ARE READING
Songs of Silence
PoetryReading a poem touches something in us. Something far deeper than the loud, fickle mind, which quickly hates or applauds and then forgets. It touches the very soul of our being, that silent part of us, that can truly feel, without judgement or opini...
