Colin F. Jones

THE THUNDER OF SILENCE

I hear the thunder of silence echo through halls
Held hollow and stark by un-climbable walls
Upon which hang the portraits of shadowy men,
But Russia will never be communist again.
There is a similar silence in the temples and mosque’s,
That are filled with the portraits of terrorist’s costs,
And weeping young children whose tears lost in past,
Are hidden by the shadows the priesthood have cast.
And asylums for lunatics who were not lunatics at all,
Still have the same echoes as a sad bugle’s call,
And still there is threat and things we don’t know,
That lurk in the shadows as unspeakable foe,
In the form of disease and viruses that change,
Like the shadows of clouds across the broad range.