As I sit on this glorious autumn morning of warm sun, I can hear, all around me the sound of gunfire. I defy anyone who is not a completely insensitive brute to listen to the sound of senseless killing and not be angered and sickened by it. A cleave poem for OctPoWriMo’s silence prompt.
A cleave poem is three in one: left side says one thing, right side says its opposite. Read together they make a third poem.
Early morning gold / the shadows lie
thick beneath the trees/ cool and deep—
autumn settles / with a stealthy rustle,
when the only sound is birdsong/ hunters creep
beneath the wing-fluttered hedge/ deer startle into flight
I hold my breath/ as silence breaks with sharp retorts
and russet flashes, gone / shattered the fragile peace
where wild things go / snapped the thread of life
I watch the silence /as death falls on fallen grace
filling the space of beauty lost/ for some warped and dark delight.