The Silent Crowd

There was no silence in the still crowd.

There was agony, there was terror.

No one lifted their shaking arms,

Their outstretched fingers.

A herd of deer in malignant headlights,

Catch them as they fall to the floor.

There are no more,

Every one of them is gone.

And no one will recant

Or find small purchase in

The loss of twilights and mornings.

There is only cerise and iron,

No tears or goodbyes.

The silent herd moves on.

Only quiet despair and shattered hope

Quickens their bellies and their hearts.


© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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